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COME  FORTH 


BY 


ELIZABETH    STUART   PHELPS 


AND 

HERBERT   D.  WARD 


BOSTON   AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


1891 


BY  ^ELIZABETH  STUART  PIIELPS  WARD 
j-Vi  »  t/";  •,  *  ^  AM*;  «      »   ^\        *; 
HERBERT  D.'  \VkttV  *  *"     *  ' 

reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


a 


NOTE. 

THIS  volume  is  not  a  Scriptural  paraphrase. 
Any  reverent  attempt  to  make  the  solemn  Per 
sonality  around  which  the  story  centres  practi 
cally  real  to  the  imagination  must  be  difficult, 
but  may  be  in  accord  with  the  highest  Christian 
sensitiveness.  Therefore  the  authors  have  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  confine  themselves  to  the 
recorded  incidents  of  Gospel  history.  Mercy  to 
the  miserable  and  loyalty  to  friendship  are  the 
leading  characteristics  of  the  Sacred  Biography. 
The  use  of  them  in  fictitious  narrative  we  be 
lieve  to  be  in  full  harmony  with  the  most  tender 
reverence  for  the  Saviour  of  mankind ;  and  it  is 
with  this  understanding  of  our  spirit  and  pur 
pose  that  we  ask  our  readers  to  interpret  this 
book. 

This  note  would  be  incomplete  without  a 
word  gratefully  acknowledging  the  cordial  criti- 

M22130 


iv  NOTE. 

cal  assistance  that  we  have  received  from  the 
eminent  Palestinian  scholar,  Professor  John  A. 
Paine,  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  New 
York. 

E.  S.  P.  W. 

H.  D.  W. 


COME  FORTH. 


CHAPTER  -.  I.  :\  •,.!:*•-  >  •  * 

THE  morning  was  fresh,  and  the  wind  arose 
from  the  western  sea.  Elsewhere  it  might  have 
been  called  an  invigorating  day.  In  Judea  and 
in  summer  one  scarcely  says  that.  Prescience 
of  the  dusty  dryness  to  come  scorches  the  nerve, 
and  it  is  with  the  imagination  busy  upon  the  hot 
noon  that  the  body  enjoys  the  cool  of  an  excep 
tional  dawn. 

The  hour  was  yet  early,  but  so  are  the  habits 
of  a  hot  country.  The  city  was  already  astir. 
The  open  markets  at  the  roadside  and  in  the 
shadow  of  the  city  gates  chaffered  busily,  finding 
a  good  share  of  their  customers  among  a  people 
devout  enough  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning 
and  go  to  worship. 

For  with  the  synagogues,  too,  dawn  was  a 
busy  time.  A  full  stomach  and  a  pious  con 
science  pulled  well  together.  People  ate  and 
prayed,  and  so  began  to  live  with  the  easy  con 
tent  of  the  Oriental. 


2  COME  FORTH. 

The  day  was  the  second  of  the  week,  and  the 
place  was  Jerusalem,  —  hot,  bright,  splendid 
Jerusalem ;  the  glory  and  despair  of  the  thought 
ful  Jew  ;  the  pride  of  the  most  thoughtless ;  the 
hope,  the  doom,  and  the  enigma  of  the  race. 
L\  Let:uSta&e  Jthje  trouble  to  consider  what  the 
city  of  'New"  Y*6r*k^  would  be  if  idealized  by  the 
'rp-riaj  Retire  thjrQugi.  a  fiery  national  patriotism ; 
what  ParisV'if  enshrined  by  a  great  religious 
sanctity ;  we  may  almost  add,  what  Heaven,  if 
universally  desired  by  earth. 

Thus  was  Jerusalem  to  the  country  people  of 
Judea  in  the  year  on  which  our  story  opens. 

The  suburbans,  to  whom  Sabbath-traveling 
was  forbidden  by  the  ecclesiastical  law,  were 
fewer  in  number  upon  the  Sacred  Day  than 
upon  a  week  day  such  as  the  one  of  which  we 
speak ;  it  chanced  to  be  a  Monday. 

These  Judean  women  had  already  performed 
their  simple  morning  tasks,  —  had  got  the  break 
fast  of  lentils  and  fruit  easily  out  of  the  way, 
had  shaken  the  mats  and  brushed  the  dust,  and 
bathed  and  wrapped  themselves  shyly  into  their 
veils,  —  and  were  now  meekly  following  in  the 
shadows  of  their  men,  who  did  not,  by  courtesy, 
address  them  in  the  streets. 

"  Yonder  goes  my  lord,"  said  a  woman  with  a 
deep  voice  and  roving  eyes.  She  spoke  to  a 
neighbor,  one  of  a  group  of  several  suburbans 


COME  FORTH.  3 

who  were  making  their  way  to  the  service  of 
morning  prayer  about  to  be  held  in  one  of  the 
minor  synagogues. 

"  My  brother  should  not  be  far  distant,"  re 
plied  she  who  had  been  addressed. 

"  He  is  there,"  observed  another  voice ;  a  gen 
tler  voice  than  either  of  the  first.  "He  standeth 
apart  by  himself,  Martha.  That  is  our  brother 
with  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground  in  thought." 

"  Surely,"  nodded  Martha  briefly,  "  your  eyes 
are  swifter  than  mine ;  they  always  were." 

A  fine  observer  regarding  the  two  women 
might  have  said,  or  would  have  thought,  "  It 
is  the  heart  that  is  swifter."  But  the  ruder 
woman  was  not  such  an  observer.  And  natu 
rally,  one's  neighbor's  affairs  were  less  interest 
ing  than  one's  own. 

"  I  hope  Ariella  will  manage  to  get  through 
the  day.  Our  neighbor,  the  mother  of  Baruch, 
promised  to  look  in  upon  her ;  and  Baruch  him 
self  is  worth  two  men  with  eyes  for  such  a  pur 
pose.  I  would  have  had  my  husband  to  stay  at 
home ;  but  he  said  he  was  not  the  woman  of  us 
to  be  nursing  sick-folk.  See  !  there  he  goes. 
There  goes  Malachi.  A  comely  man,  and  no 
more  fond  of  his  own  way  than  a  man  ought  to 
be." 

Malachi,  a  swaggering  Pharisee,  with  the 
broadest  phylactery  on  the  street,  bound  across 


4  COME  FORTH. 

a  dark  coarse  forehead,  strode  by  the  women 
at  this  moment ;  he  passed  without  recognition. 

"  I  would  have  remained  with  Ariella,"  said 
she  of  the  quiet  voice,  "  but  blind  Baruch  is 
tenderer  than  the  most  of  women.  She  will  not 
suffer,  Hagaar." 

"  For  my  part,"  retorted  Hagaar,  a  little 
snappishly,  "  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  see  the 
world  now  and  then  like  other  people,  if  I  have 
a  sick  daughter." 

"Hush,"  pleaded  the  other,  "oh,  hush!  we 
are  about  to  pray." 

Hagaar  rolled  her  round  eyes  more  in  wonder 
than  in  displeasure  upon  her  gentle  neighbor, 
and  became  silent. 

With  the  bowed  head,  covered  face,  and  def 
erent  step  of  the  Eastern  woman,  the  little 
group  now  passed  up  the  steps  of  the  syna 
gogue,  and  crossed  its  portico  to  the  entrance 
set  apart  for  their  sex. 

The  men,  less  reverent,  as  of  course,  more 
individual  of  manner,  jabbered  steadily  up  to 
the  last  moment.  They  did  not  speak  Hebrew, 
which  was  now  the  lost  language  of  the  race, 
the  tongue  of  culture  and  scholarship.  They 
talked  in  Aramaic,  the  language  of  the  people, 
of  the  unlearned,  of  the  democracy  ;  for  these 
were  not  the  worshipers  of  the  Temple,  made 
glorious  by  national  tradition  and  reverence, 


COME  FORTH.  5 

cherished  by  conservative  religion  and  patronized 
by  social  influence.  These  were  the  classes  of 
people  who  frequented  the  synagogues,  where 
heresy  was  taught  not  without  authority  ;  these 
were  the  powerful  sect  of  the  Pharisees,  a  party 
with  many  excellent  points,  not  always  credited 
in  the  memory  of  their  weaker  and  worse  ones. 
These  were  the  vigorous  bourgeois  who  had  tried 
to  revolutionize  the  Jewish  Church,  and  who  to 
some  extent  succeeded. 

A  theocracy  is  a  great  simplifier  of  masculine 
consecration,  in  that  religion  and  patriotism  are 
identical,  but  not  of  masculine  discussion,  in 
that  no  theocracy  has  yet  extinguished  politics ; 
and  the  Jewish  one  at  this  time  was  a  political 
madhouse,  in  which  each  maniac  ran  his  own 
fixed  idea  till  he  came  in  contact  with  some 
keeper  stronger  than  himself,  and  so  got  into  his 
strait-jacket  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Malachi  the  Pharisee,  having  talked  several 
of  his  acquaintances  out  of  hearing,  made  a  dead 
set  upon  the  young  man,  the  brother  of  Martha 
and  her  quiet  sister,  —  the  young  man  who 
stood  apart  and  mused  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground  ;  they  were  fine  eyes,  we  may  pause  to 
say.  He  was,  take  him  altogether,  a  fine-look 
ing  fellow. 

Yet  when  we  have  used  the  words,  they  seem 
to  form  a  phrase  not  so  much  too  modern,  for 


6  COME  FORTH. 

the  great  lines  of  human  type  run  without  re 
gard  to  chronology,  but  too  urban,  too  conven 
tional,  to  describe  him.  He  had  unquestionably 
great  beauty ;  but  this  handsome  youth  was  no 
man  of  the  world. 

On  the  other  hand,  assuredly  he  was  no  rustic. 
He  had  experience,  position,  authority,  in  his 
air.  He  had  wealth  and  taste  in  his  costume. 
He  had  the  ease  of  the  affluent  middle  classes. 
He  was  finely  formed,  with  a  figure  inclining  to 
spareness  but  made  vigorous  by  physical  labor, 
and  refined  by  the  fact  that  the  severest  of  this 
labor  was  apparently  behind  him.  He  gave  the 
impression  of  a  devotee  called  by  fate  to  some 
practical  mechanical  occupation  ;  a  man  born  for 
a  vocation,  but  born  into  an  avocation. 

His  eyes  were  large,  gray,  and  a  little  sad, 
liquid,  dreamy,  and  winning;  his  lips  had  the 
ascetic  delicacy  of  intellectual  or  spiritual  tem 
peraments.  He  had  almost  feminine  beauty  of 
coloring  in  skin  and  hair.  He  was  attractive, 
both  as  painting  and  sculpture  are  attractive. 

Malachi,  strutting  a  little,  as  men  of  his  sort 
do,  whether  there  is  anything  to  strut  about  or 
not,  laid  his  large  hand  heavily  upon  the  young 
man's  shoulder,  and  accosted  him  with  the  fami 
liar  jocoseness  which  is  seldom  more  pleasing  to 
men  of  such  natures  than  it  is  to  women  ;  or,  at 
least,  to  women  of  good  breeding.  What  he 


COME  FORTH.  7 

said  was  not  important  from  any  point  of  view, 
and  received  the  brief  reply  of  polite  indiffer 
ence,  until  he  let  fall  a  word  which  dropped 
upon  the  young  man's  calm  like  a  spark  upon 
dry  chaff. 

It  was  a  single  word  which  Malachi  spoke,  — 
a  name  ;  but  his  neighbor  fired  at  it  into  instant 
animation. 

"  I  understand,"  observed  the  elder  man,  im 
portantly,  "  I  am  told,  on  good  authority,  that 
he  will  address  the  congregation  to-day." 

"  From  whom  did  you  learn  this  ?  "  asked  the 
other ;  he  had  an  expression  which  might  indi 
cate  either  real  surprise  or  feigned  ignorance. 
It  was  not  easy  to  say  which. 

"  I  have  it  in  confidence  from  no  less  than  the 
Chazzan,"  nodded  the  Pharisee.  "  I  am  often 
consulted  upon  matters  of  the  synagogue.  It 
appears  that  my  opinion  has  value.  I  was  asked 
if  I  could  recommend  the  young  Rabbi." 

"  And  what  answer  gave  you  ?  "  inquired  his 
neighbor,  with  a  reticent  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  did  my  best  for  him  ;  I  did  my  best. 
I  said  I  thought  him  a  worthy  young  man,  de 
serving  of  a  hearing,  at  all  events  for  the  pre 
sent.  I  am  not  sure  of  his  doctrine,  myself ;  it 
is  free,  —  free.  He  does  not  hold  himself  in 
fealty  to  the  Law,  it  is  said  ;  nor  yet,  I  fear,  to 
the  Oral  Tradition.  He  may  prove  a  danger- 


8  COME  FORTH. 

ous  fellow.  But  I  am  a  liberal  man.  I  said : 
Give  him  fair  play.  Give  him  a  hearing." 

"  Doubtless  he  of  whom  you  speak  feeleth 
under  obligation  to  you,"  returned  the  other, 
gravely. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Malachi,  "  naturally.  I 
should  suppose  he  would." 

He  glanced  at  his  companion's  fine  averted 
face :  he  could  make  nothing  of  it ;  he  had  the 
vague  discomfort  of  dull  self-sufficiency  which 
feels  itself  criticised,  but  cannot  perceive  how 
or  why. 

Synagogue-service,  at  that  time  in  the  history 
of  the  singular  people  with  whom  our  story 
deals,  might  be  called  the  main  amusement  as  it 
was  the  chief  religious  exercise  of  the  populace. 
What  games  were  to  the  Romans,  worship  was 
to  the  Jews ,  —  the  popular  entertainment,  the 
thing  to  do,  the  opportunity  of  seeing  one's 
neighbors.  Ancient  life  did  not  differ  so  much 
from  modern  in  this  respect.  The  congregation 
went  to  the  service  from  mixed  motives,  as  we  go 
to  a  prayer-meeting  in  country  parishes. 

Now  the  Jews,  being  always  a  thrifty  people, 
set  a  high  value  upon  industry.  A  man  usually 
taught  his  son  the  father's  trade;  and  each 
trade  was  held  in  honor  of  its  own  to  such  ex 
tent  that  synagogues  were  erected  for  the  par 
ticular  accommodation  of  classes  of  mechanics. 


COME  FORTH.  9 

The  stonecutters,  the  coppersmiths,  the  tent- 
makers,  had  their  places  of  worship.  The  build 
ing  of  which  we  speak  was  known  as  the  Syna 
gogue  of  the  Carpenters. 

It  was  a  plain  building,  constructed  of  stone, 
with  a  Greek  portico  held  by  scanty  pillars.  A 
certain  resemblance  to  the  great  orthodox  Tem 
ple  might  be  detected  in  the  modest  dissenting 
house  of  worship.  Whatever  his  theology,  every 
Jew  adored  the  Temple,  after  all. 

The  women  were  already  seated  when  the  men 
of  our  little  party  entered  the  synagogue.  The 
sexes  were  separated  strictly.  A  wall  or  railing 
ran  between  them.  One  could  just  comfortably 
look  over  its  edge. 

The  exclusion  of  women  from  the  synagogue, 
or  the  crowding  of  them  behind  screens  and  in 
galleries,  is  a  custom  of  late  invention. 

The  synagogue  was  cool  and  calm.  The  wo 
men  sat  like  hooded  flowers,  mute  and  sweet  in 
their  meek  places.  They  turned  their  faces 
humbly  toward  the  upper  end  of  the  building, 
where  the  Law  lay  in  a  sacred  chest  in  imitation 
of  the  Ark  of  the  Temple. 

In  the  middle  of  the  audience  room,  on  a 
raised  platform,  the  speaker  of  the  day  —  he 
whom  they  called  the  Sheliach  —  was  already 
vigorously  reciting  the  Shema.  He  was  an  old 
man  with  a  waving  white  beard;  one  of  the 


10  COME  FORTH. 

most  familiar  and  least  interesting  of  the  preach 
ers  in  the  Synagogue  of  the  Carpenters. 

The  young  Rabbi  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"  He  will  come,"  whispered  Malachi  the 
Pharisee ;  "I  have  been  informed  that  he  is  ex 
pected.  But  it  ill  becomes  him  to  be  tardy." 

Now  it  was  one  of  the  excellent  customs  in 
Jewish  church  -  law  that  ten  men  were  profes 
sionally  employed  to  start  an  audience.  With 
out  a  quorum  of  this  number  the  Law  could  not 
be  read.  With  this  quorum,  services  might  be 
gin  at  the  appointed  hour  ;  and  so  neither  were 
the  too  early  and  too  few  disappointed,  nor  the 
too  late  suffered  to  drag  the  occasion. 

The  young  man  whom  Malachi  was  instruct 
ing  upon  the  ecclesiastical  prospect  of  the  day 
made  no  reply,  but  silently  passed  forward  to 
ward  his  seat.  This  was  directly  in  front  of 
that  of  his  two  sisters.  The  elder  sister  turned 
her  head  at  the  sound  of  his  step ;  but  the 
younger  sat  modestly  with  downcast  eyes.  Sud 
denly  she  whom  they  called  Martha  whispered : 

"  He  turns  back.  He  hath  been  summoned 
from  without." 

The  sweet  face  of  the  other  changed  its  ex 
pression  slightly  ;  but  she  was  not  the  kind  of 
woman  who  talks  in  the  synagogue,  even  with  a 
chattering  sister.  Her  countenance  was  so  mo 
bile,  indeed,  that  she  needed  few  words.  Far 


COME  FORTH.  11 

above  the  manner  of  most  Oriental  women, 
whose  lack  of  education  and  severe  domestic 
seclusion  gave  them  monotony  of  expression,  her 
face  had  language.  But  it  was  a  high  language, 
full  of  dignity  and  delicacy,  rather  than  an  agile 
one,  feminine,  coquettish,  or  gay. 

"  And  where,"  persisted  Martha,  "  where  in 
the  world  ia  He?" 

Her  sister  answered  only  by  a  finger  tip  on 
the  lips ;  but  her  eyes  betrayed  a  fine,  feverish 
excitement,  powerfully  suppressed.  She  bent 
her  head  meekly,  and  gave  devout  attention  to 
the  old  Sheliach.  Was  that  not  her  duty  ?  A 
young  mechanic  from  the  men's  division  of  the 
synagogue  looked  back  at  her  in  rapt  neglect  of 
the  Header.  Was  not  that  his  nature?  She 
did  nonreturn  his  gaze,  for  the  excellent  reason 
that  she  knew  nothing  about  it. 

Her  brother,  meanwhile,  having  answered  the 
summons  which  called  him  from  the  synagogue, 
passed  out  over  the  portico,  and  looked  abroad 
for  the  messenger.  One  stood  there,  whom  he 
recognized  by  a  mute  sign  ;  he  moved  apart  with 
him  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  two  conversed 
in  low  tones.  The  messenger  was  a  plain  man, 
in  the  working-clothes  of  a  fisherman.  Some 
thing  in  his  bearing  seemed  to  place  him  above 
his  class  ;  but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  say  what 
this  was.  His  grammar  was  that  of  the  unedu- 


12  COME  FORTH. 

cated  people,  but  his  voice  had  a  refined  quality, 
not  to  be  unnoticed  by  a  refined  ear. 

The  two  young  men  spoke  earnestly ;  they  had 
the  aspect  of  those  who  might  have  been  friends 
if  circumstances  had  thrown  them  together; 
their  natures  seemed  to  flow  toward  each  other, 
even  upon  the  simplest  topic.  Evidently  it  was 
no  simple  topic  which  absorbed  them.  After 
a  little  conversation,  they  kissed  each  other  in 
the  Oriental  manner,  and  parted.  The  messen 
ger  went  down  the  hill,  and  disappeared  among 
the  people  hastily.  The  other  returned  to  the 
meeting. 

The  Sheliach  was  still  expounding.  The  con 
gregation  looked  sleepy.  Martha  suppressed  a 
yawn,  and  fidgeted  in  her  seat.  Malachi  the 
Pharisee  glared  with  annoyance  about  the  au 
dience.  The  young  mechanic  glanced  at  the 
younger  sister  now  and  then  throughout  the 
service.  But  she  sat  still  in  her  place. 

As  her  brother  passed  her  in  returning  to  his 
seat,  he  contrived  to  drop  the  scroll  he  carried, 
which  contained  a  record  of  certain  portions  of 
the  Oral  Tradition.  In  stooping  to  pick  up  the 
parchment  he  defied  ecclesiastical  laws  and  social 
conventionality;  for  he  whispered  to  his  sister 
in  the  synagogue.  But,  as  it  was  his  sister,  the 
offense  passed  unrebuked,  perhaps  unnoticed. 
His  words  were  few  enough.  These  were  all :  — 


COME  FORTH.  13 

"  The  Roman  threatens.  Look  for  him  no 
longer,  Mary.  He  cometh  not  to-day." 

"  How  know  you  ?  "  breathed  Mary. 

"  By  the  mouth  of  John  the  Disciple." 

The  Sheliach  droned  on.  Mary's  tender  coun 
tenance  fell.  The  service  proceeded.  In  the 
course  of  due  time  it  was  officially  announced 
by  one  of  the  assistant  readers  that  the  popular 
young  Rabbi,  expected  to  address  the  audience  on 
that  occasion,  was  unfortunately  prevented  from 
appearing  among  them;  and  that  our  revered 
friend  and  father,  the  Sheliach,  would  continue 
the  discourse.  This  announcement  was  given 
upon  the  authority  of  our  well-known  and  hon 
ored  fellow-worshiper,  Lazarus  the  Builder,  resi 
dent  at  Bethany. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  THE  house  is  mine,"  said  Martha.  "  I  will 
have  the  rug  there."  Now  she  spoke  the  truth. 
The  house  was  Martha's.  But  then,  why  say 
so  ?  This  was  the  nature  of  Martha's  mind. 
To  make  one's  family  uncomfortable  by  insist 
ing  on  the  unnecessary,  or  asserting  the  too  evi 
dent,  is  a  temperamental  defect  common  to  so 
many  a  house  -  mistress,  besides  this  excellent 
Jewish  matron,  that  it  is  liable  to  receive  more 
sympathy  than  blame. 

Her  younger  sister  made  no  reply.  The  si 
lence  of  Mary  was  at  once  her  sweetest  charm 
and  finest  weapon.  It  enhanced  her  and  pro 
tected  her.  She  had  the  supreme  quality  of 
self-control,  which,  when  born  of  a  high  nature, 
is  a  divine  force. 

She  turned  her  gentle  eyes  away,  so  that  her 
profile  only  was  visible  to  her  sister,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  sweep  the  portico  dutifully.  Her  del 
icate  arms,  bare  to  the  shoulder,  escaped  from 
her  light  home-robe  in  long,  free  motions  timed 
to  the  stroke  of  her  broom.  Her  slender  figure 
swayed  dreamily.  Her  eyes,  soft  and  musing, 


COME  FORTH.  15 

had  an  absent  expression.  Mary's  thoughts 
were  not  on  the  broom.  Yet  the  portico  was 
quite  clean. 

The  young  wood-carver,  who  watched  her  in 
the  synagogue,  should  have  seen  her  at  that  mo 
ment  to  complete  his  bondage.  In  fact,  he  just 
missed  doing  so ;  being  at  work  on  the  other 
side  of  the  house,  at  the  new  addition  built  by 
Lazarus.  Mary  had  seen  this  young  man  be 
fore  ;  she  supposed  Jacob  to  be  a  pleasant  boy, 
and  supposed  no  more  about  him.  Her  thoughts 
did  not  incline  like  the  thoughts  of  other  women. 
Earthly  love  she  did  not  consider.  It  seemed 
foreign  and  unreal  to  her,  like  Martha's  views 
about  housekeeping.  For  the  most  part  the 
Jewish  youth  were  afraid  of  Mary,  and  revered 
her  accordingly.  She  was  one  of  the  women  who 
live  followed  by  an  unknown  corps  of  lovers, 
distant,  adoring,  and  silent. 

But  Martha  was  a  widow. 

She  had  known  her  troubles,  too,  though 
they  had  not  refined  her  tact  or  sensibility. 
She  had  married  too  young,  to  begin  with,  being 
a  gay  girl,  and  fond  of  all  such  liberties  as  a 
reputable  Jewish  maiden  might  indulge  in  ;  they 
were  not  many,  it  is  true,  but  Martha  made  the 
most  of  them.  She  had  made  what  would  be 
called  nowadays  "  a  good  match ; "  Simon,  her 
husband,  being  a  rich  man.  Her  marriage  was 


16  COME   FORTH. 

not  many  years  old,  and  comfortable  enough  as 
marriages  go,  when  she  met  with  her  affliction, 
—  the  most  terrible  that  can  befall  an  Eastern 
family.  Simon,  to  make  few  words  of  it,  be 
came  a  leper. 

His  life,  fortunately  for  everybody  concerned, 
was  not  a  long  one.  In  the  leper-settlements 
without  the  gates  of  Jerusalem,  to  which  the  Law 
and  his  wife  promptly  removed  him,  the  man  of 
wealth  and  position  and  family  withered  out  of 
existence.  Martha  bewailed  him  dutifully,  and 
took  her  place  as  the  mistress  of  his  handsome 
house  zealously.  She  had  never,  if  the  truth 
were  told,  enjoyed  life  so  much  before.  The 
independence  of  a  "  widow  well  left "  is  often 
the  first  that  a  woman  knows,  and  sweetens  be 
reavement  with  the  flavor  of  novelty. 

Now,  since  a  man  was  the  head  of  a  family 
by  law  and  nature,  unto  Martha  had  come  her 
brother  Lazarus,  bringing  their  sister  Mary, 
and  the  three  abode  together  with  no  more  than 
the  usual  amount  of  family  sparring,  —  we  have 
some  reason  to  think  with  less,  since  the  hos 
pitality  of  their  house  came  to  be  valued  by 
the  peace-loving  and  quiet-seeking;  perhaps  it 
should  be  added,  however,  by  the  peace  and  quiet 
bringing. 

Lazarus  was  a  man  well  blessed  with  this 
world's  goods,  and,  if  a  house  were  the  sole 


COME  FORTH,  17 

point  of  view  from  which  to  regard  life,  qualified 
to  dwell  in  a  larger  than  Simon's.  But  Lazarus 
was  not  a  married  man,  and  willing  to  forego  a 
trivial  importance  for  the  more  solid  domestic 
comfort.  For  the  truth  must  be  told.  Mary 
he  revered,  —  nay,  Mary  he  did  love  devotedly. 
But  Mary  was  not  born  for  a  housekeeper. 
Martha's  tongue,  on  the  whole,  was  offset  by  her 
cooking.  The  three  combined  their  several 
home  qualifications  into  one  successful  house 
hold  contentedly.  The  house  continued  to  be 
known  in  Jerusalem  and  its  suburbs  as  that  of 
Simon  the  Leper.  Lazarus  satisfied  his  bach 
elor  taste  by  extensive  and  expensive  addition  to 
what  was  already  the  finest  house  in  Bethany, 
modernized  his  own  elegant  apartments,  and 
preserved  therein  the  sweet  liberty  of  solitude. 

This  was  convenient  on  all  sides,  for,  as  Mar 
tha  said,  "  Who  wanted  too  much  of  a  man?  " 

But  Lazarus  and  Mary  his  sister  used  to  talk 
together,  in  quiet  places  and  at  quiet  times,  on 
the  cool  side  of  the  portico  that  he  had  added, 
or. in  his  own  court  after  sunset,  or  on  the  Sab 
bath,  when  they  were  weary  and  had  performed 
all  that  the  Law  required  at  the  synagogue  of 
the  village. 

These  three  people  lived  an  ideal  suburban 
life  —  and  in  most  respects  the  suburban  is  the 
ideal  life  —  to  practical  ends.  Wealth,  influ- 


18  COME  FORTH. 

ence,  character,  and  the  peace  of  an  easy  home 
were  theirs.  To  these  agreeable  details  Lazarus 
added  the  vigorous  pleasure  of  a  successful  and 
remunerative  trade.  He  was  what  we  should 
call  a  master-builder.  The  meanest  of  honest 
trades  was  respected  among  his  people  ;  and 
success  like  his  received  a  general  deference. 
Lack  of  this  was  found  only  among  men  of 
superior  rank  or  of  high-caste  conservative  the 
ological  views.  For  Lazarus  was  a  conscien 
tious,  influential  Pharisee,  —  the  progressive,  the 
protestant,  the  eome-outer  of  his  faith  and  his 
times.  His  position  was  that  of  a  rich,  middle- 
class  reformer. 

Martha  had  raised  no  objections  to  the  addi 
tion  to  her  house.  Lazarus  being  in  the  busi 
ness,  it  struck  her  as  the  proper  thing. 

"  It  will  not  cost  so  much,"  she  said.  "  And 
I  need  more  space  for  the  women  myself." 

On  this  day  we  speak  of,  when  Martha  was 
troubled  about  the  rugs,  Lazarus  came  home  at 
sunset,  thoughtful  and  reserved.  Martha  began 
at  once :  — 

"  What  aileth  thee,  Lazarus  ?  Thou  wearest 
a  sour  face." 

"  Oh,  not  a  sour  face  !  "  cried  Mary.  "  Our 
brother  is  weary.  See  you  not,  Martha?  He 
hath  ^borne  too  heavily  the  heat  and  burden  of 
the  day.  We  women,  who  sit  apart  in  the  cool 


COME  FORTH.  19 

of   the  house,  should  remember  how  the  man 
toileth  in  the  sun." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Mary ;  and  Mar 
tha,  a  little  surprised  thereat,  received  it  with 
equally  unusual  silence ;  she  left  the  room  and 
the  discussion  to  prepare  the  evening  meal. 
Mary  and  Lazarus  sat  together.  She  asked  him 
no  questions,  but  he  spoke  at  once,  as  if  she  had 
done  so. 

"  Has  word  come  from  our  guest,  Mary  ?  " 

"  No  word,  my  brother." 

"  I  thought  we  had  seen  him  by  this.  The 
people  press  hard  upon  him,  and  overwear  him. 
They  kill  him  with  their  troubles  —  sick,  lame, 
blind,  leper,  and  worse  than  all.  They  load 
him  down  with  them  as  I  load  the  slave  that  car 
ries  my  stone.  It  is  said  that  for  nigh  a  week 
he  has  not  been  known  to  rest  like  other  men  :  he 
goeth  to  the  mountain-top  and  prayeth  there." 

"All  the  night?"  asked  Mary,  pitifully.  Her 
sensitive  face  had  flushed  at  the  first  mention  of 
him  of  whom  Lazarus  spoke. 

"  They  say,  who  have  seen  him  closely,  that 
he  carries  the  face  of  a  sleepless  man." 

"  John  the  fisherman  made  mention  to  me  of 
this,"  added  Lazarus.  "  I  met  him  at  the  fish- 
market  to-night.  He  spoke  many  words  to  me 
upon  the  matter.  He  said,  'There  is  a  man 
starving  for  sleep.' " 


20  COME  FORTH. 

"  He  resteth  in  our  upper  chamber,"  replied 
Mary,  in  a  tone  of  something  like  entreaty. 
"  He  resteth  peacefully.  Know  you  not,  Laza 
rus,  how  his  eyes  look  when  he  cometh  to  us  in 
the  morning?  " 

u  I  have  been  expecting  him,"  said  Lazarus. 
His  masculine  fewness  of  words  expressed  no 
less  eager  sympathy  than  his  sister's  more  ardent 
manner. 

"  And  I,"  she  said  beneath  her  breath,  "  every 
day  —  every  night.  He  cometh  not." 

"  Think  you,  Lazarus,"  she  asked  timidly, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  she  had  crept  upon 
a  low  ottoman  near  her  brother's  feet,  —  "  think 
you  that  he  wearieth  of  us  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  many  desert  him,"  answered 
Lazarus,  in  a  ringing  voice  ;  "  I  never  knew  him 
forsake  a  human  creature  !  " 

Mary  nodded  silently.  A  beautiful  luminous- 
ness  stole  into  her  large  eyes.  She  lifted  them 
to  the  mountain-top  towering  above  her ;  her 
whole  face  and  figure  seemed  to  be  at  prayer. 

At  this  moment  Martha  entered  bustling. 

"  Come,  come  !  Supper  is  served,  and  ye  two 
sit  there  like  mummies  while  I  play  slave  for 
ye.  Come,  Mary !  Hasten  and  serve.  Come, 
Lazarus  !  What  bothers  thee  now  ?  ' 

"  Important  business  concerns,"  said  Lazarus, 
with  dignity.  Martha  offered  no  retort.  She 


COME  FORTH.  21 

had  a  great  respect  for  business.  It  meant 
money  and  position  ;  it  meant  things  she  under 
stood. 

"  I  am  considering,"  said  Lazarus,  as  he  sat 
at  supper,  "  a  contract  which  has  been  offered 
me  to-day.  It  is  one  of  importance." 

"  A  new  customer  ?  "  queried  Martha,  with 
animation.  But  Mary  showed  no  interest  in  the 
new  customer.  She  had  relapsed  into  a  sweet 
dream.  She  served  her  brother,  while  he  sat  at 
meat,  like  an  angel  walking  on  a  floating  cloud 
that  would  bear  one  away  at  a  breath  —  who 
knew  whither  ? 

"  Yes,"  observed  Lazarus,  "  I  am  asked  to  re 
model  portions  of  the  palace  "  — 

"  Palace !  "  cried  Martha. 

"Of  Annas." 

"  Annas  the  High  priest  ?  Has  he  given  you 
an  order?  " 

"  I  speak  of  none  other,"  said  Lazarus  calmly. 
"  I  do  the  work  of  an  honest  man.  Is  that  not 
good  enough  for  priest  or  beggar  ?  And  have  I 
not  wrought  upon  the  sacred  Temple  ?  " 

"  Take  it,  by  all  means,"  said  Martha,  with 
her  shrewd  look.  "  When  shall  you  begin  ?  " 

"  Immediately,  if  at  all,"  replied  Lazarus ; 
"  and  I  am  inclined  to  follow  your  advice,  sister 
Martha.  Your  judgment  passes  the  judgment 
of  women  upon  affairs  of  house  and  trade." 


22  COME   FORTH. 

These  few  words  flattered  and  pleased  Martha 
immensely.  She  became  good-natured  at  once. 
They  were  easy  words  to  speak,  too,  and  quite 
true.  Lazarus  never  said  what  was  not  true, 
even  for  the  sake  of  domestic  peace.  Women 
of  Martha's  type  may  be  as  conscious  of  their 
unpopularity  as  they  are  of  their  necessity  to 
society.  Appreciation  has  the  highest  mathe 
matical  value  to  those  who  do  not  get  much  of 
it.  The  tough-fibred,  practical  woman  is  never 
as  much  beyond  the  need  of  it  as  she  seems  to 
be.  Martha  had  a  chronic  conviction  that  peo 
ple  "  took  "  to  her  younger  sister  at  her  expense. 
Lazarus  knew  this  quite  well.  To  save  his  life, 
he  could  not  help  loving  Mary  better.  But  his 
just  soul  sought  the  more  severely  to  recognize 
Martha's  good  points. 

The  three  went  up  to  the  roof  of  the  house 
after  supper,  and  sat  together  in  unwonted  har 
mony.  It  was  one  of  Judea's  most  agreeable 
evenings ;  the  cool  came  on  gratefully ;  the 
scorching  colors  of  the  air  died  away  without  a 
struggle.  The  little  hamlet  of  Bethany  leaned 
on  the  eastern  slope  of  Olivet  like  a  child  asleep 
on  a  sheltering  arm.  Below,  the  valley  dark 
ened  delicately :  the  outlines  of  rock  and  road 
lingered  a  long  time  in  the  twilight.  Figures 
passing  were  only  dim  enough  to  be  poetic 
and  picturesque  ;  one  watched  them  with  quiet, 


COME  FORTH.  23 

aesthetic  pleasure.  Above,  the  mountain-range 
lifted  its  solemn  head  :  she  rose,  purple  and 
calm,  like  a  queen,  who  had  purposes  and  secrets 
of  her  own.  Overhead,  the  clear,  far,  fine  ether 
of  the  Oriental  sky  throbbed,  —  pale  fire  melt 
ing  into  a  dome  of  gray. 

Suddenly  the  still  air  thrilled  to  a  wide,  strong 
tone.  It  was  the  cry  of  the  trumpet  from  the 
synagogue,  calling  all  the  children  of  Jehovah 
to  the  evening  prayer. 

The  master  of  the  household  rose  at  the  sum 
mons,  the  women  followed  him,  the  slaves  in 
the  court  stopped,  arrested  in  their  labors  ;  the 
Jewish  family  paused  with  bowed  heads  and 
clasped  hands ;  they  prayed  silently  ;  they  stood 
with  their  faces  toward  Jerusalem. 

When  the  prayer  was  finished,  Martha  went 
below  to  give  orders  to  her  women,  and  Lazarus 
seated  himself  quietly ;  but  Mary  moved  to  the 
edge  of  the  roof,  and  looked  off  into  the  valley. 
She  sat  down  behind  the  tiled  railing  that  ran 
around  the  roof,  that  she  might  not  be  observed 
of  passers  ;  her  face  expressed  sudden  and  eager 
animation. 

"  What  seest  thou,  Mary  ?  "  asked  her  brother 
kindly. 

"  Come  hither,  Lazarus,"  replied  Mary  softly. 
"  Look  for  thyself."  She  pointed  downward 
toward  the  valley,  where  the  shadow  was  length- 


24  COME  FORTH. 

ening  faster  than  it  was  deepening.  A  group  of 
people  traveling  from  the  direction  of  Jerusalem, 
winding  about  the  mountain-side,  had  come  to 
a  halt.  Their  figures  could  still  be  clearly  seen 
from  the  roof  of  the  house. 

Mary  lifted  her  beautiful  arms,  and  pointed 
with  one  finger  at  the  road ;  the  delicate  outline 
of  the  finger  trembled. 

"It  is  he,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,  I  see  him  not,"  protested  Lazarus. 

"  It  is  he,"  repeated  Mary,  undisturbed. 

The  two  peered  over  the  railing,  the  woman 
sheltered  by  her  brother's  presence,  and  gazed 
into  the  valley  intently. 

The  group  upon  the  highway  had  paused  at 
the  summons  of  the  evening  prayer,  it  seemed ; 
or  was  there  perhaps  another  interruption? 

Tall  and  motionless  among  the  clustering 
people,  one  figure  rose  preeminent  to  the  eye. 
It  was  the  figure  of  a  man,  young  in  years, 
and  yet  clothed  with  great  dignity.  The  light 
was  too  faint  to  discern  this  form  with  dis 
tinctness,  except  that  it  stood  a  little  apart 
from  the  urgent  pressure  of  the  people  who  had 
the  aspect  of  entreating  him  eagerly.  In  the 
faint  light  the  man  could  be  seen,  as  he  seemed 
to  turn  his  face  toward  the  height,  and  perhaps 
in  the  direction  of  the  house  of  Simon  the  Leper. 
Apparently,  he  hesitated  with  himself. 


COME   FORTH.  25 

"  Yes,"  said  Lazarus,  "  it  is  he.  It  is  he  in 
deed.  Go  and  tell  Martha  to  prepare  for  him. 
He  corneth  to  us  at  last." 

But  Mary  knelt  with  her  face  pressed  to  the 
tiled  railing,  gazing  persistently  down.  She  did 
not  move  to  obey  her  brother's  command. 

"  Mary ! "  cried  Lazarus,  rising  in  displeasure, 
"  are  you  dreaming  again,  now,  when  he  is  all 
but  at  our  gates,  —  when  every  moment  is  pre 
cious  that  we  may  serve  him  with  our  best? 
Mary!" 

" Oh,"  mourned  Mary,  "he  cometh  not.  He 
cometh  not.  See  you,  Lazarus.  They  have  de 
terred  him.  They  call  him  back.  He  turneth 
—  see  !  —  he  goeth.  Oh,  he  goeth  from  us. 
So  near  us  —  and  so  worn  for  rest  —  he  goeth 
away  without  it.  He  setteth  his  face  already 
once  more  toward  Jerusalem  !  " 

"You  are  right,"  announced  Lazarus,  decid 
edly, —  "as  usual,"  he  murmured  in  a  lower 
tone.  "You  have  the  eyes  which  see,  Mary. 
But  I  cannot  understand  this  matter  !  I  am 
distressed  at  it.  Why  this  hesitation  ?  —  Yes. 
He  returneth.  Fain  would  I  hasten  down  and 
overtake  him,  and  compel  him  by  my  heart's 
force  to  tarry  with  us." 

"Nay,"  cried  Mary  hastily,  "nay,  nay,  my 
brother.  Entreat  him  not.  He  knoweth  his 
own  will  —  and  the  will,"  she  said  solemnly, 


26  COME  FORTH. 

"  of  Him  that  sent  him.  Besides,"  she  added, 
with  quick  feminine  sensitiveness,  "  he  knoweth 
that  he  hath  eternal  welcome  beneath  thy  roof 
and  Martha's.  We  would  not  ask  him  if  he 
cometh  not.  See !  Look  yonder !  He  turneth 
the  corner  of  the  road  as  it  windeth  round  the 
mountain.  The  people  shout  and  run  and  press 
upon  him.  They  bring  one  unto  him  —  it  is 
an  afflicted  creature.  For  that  cause  he  return- 
eth." 

"Verily  it  is  so,"  said  Lazarus,  sadly.  "It  is 
one  possessed,  or  other  diseased  person,  whom 
they  bring.  Whatever  it  is  which  has  hindered 
him  from  us,  my  sister,  thou  mayst  know  it  is 
the  call  of  woe,  or  want,  or  sin.  Yes,  he  joineth 
the  returning  people ;  he  returneth  —  he  is 
gone." 

Mary  bowed  her  face  upon  the  tiles  and  said 
nothing.  The  light  of  her  life  and  the  hope  of 
her  soul  —  the  hope  of  her  people,  their  Master 
and  their  Mystery  —  had  withdrawn  himself 
from  her  sight :  and  her  gentle  heart  was  sore 
within  her. 

"  Why,  he  will  come  back  again  when  that 
wretch  is  taken  care  of!"  cried  Martha,  whose 
practical  view  of  things  was  as  great  a  relief  at 
some  times  as  it  was  a  terror  at  others,  to  her 
family.  "  Of  course  he  will  come  back !  I  will 
myself  prepare  the  upper  chamber.  Watch  for 


COME   FORTH.  27 

him,  Lazarus,  and  let  me  know  the  first  moment 
that  there  are  signs  of  him !  " 

Martha  rustled  away  more  noisily  than  she 
had  come  upon  the  roof. 

"  A  pretty  time  of  day !  "  she  added  testily, 
"  to  bring  one's  fits  before  such  as  he  !  —  or  one's 

O 

wits  either.  Fitty  people  are  always  half-witted, 
in  my  opinion.  I  '11  venture  the  creature  is  n't 
worth  curing." 

But  Mary  watched  silently,  with  her  burning 
cheeks  upon  the  smooth  warm  tiles.  Lazarus 
kept  her  company  awhile.  His  own  fine  face 
wore  a  look  of  keen  disappointment.  Neither 
spoke ;  it  darkened  rapidly ;  the  sound  of  pass 
ing  footsteps  grew  few  and  faint. 

"  He  will  not  come,"  announced  the  master  of 
the  house,  at  last,  with  masculine  decisiveness. 
"  I  go  below.  Do  thou  the  same,  Mary." 

Mary  did  not  reply.  She  was  glad  when 
even  Lazarus  was  gone :  she  s-at  on  alone,  half 
crouched,  half  kneeling,  upon  the  roof.  The 
dew  fell ;  her  bright  hair  grew  damp.  Mary 
had  abundant,  beautiful  hair ;  it  weighed  upon 
her  head  like  a  crown.  Her  soft  flesh  grew 
cooled  and  chill.  Her  ears  quivered,  as  fine 
nerves  of  hearing  do,  from  listening  in  vain,  till 
the  auditory  sense  becomes  an  anguish.  The 
step  for  which  she  waited  did  not  come. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  day  on  which  our  story  opened  was  a 
peaceful  one  in  the  house  of  Malachi  the  Phar 
isee.  Of  all  days,  alas,  one  could  not  say  that 
in  the  house  of  Malachi.  He  was  an  imperious 
fellow ;  Hagaar,  his  wife,  was  a  loud  shrew ; 
their  only  child  was  an  invalid  girl.  Given 
these  materials,  the  nature  of  that  house  need 
not  be  described. 

After  her  father  and  mother  had  left  her  for 
the  trip  to  Jerusalem,  the  sick  girl  sank  upon 
her  pillows  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Solitude  was 
a  luxury  in  her  lot,  such  as  only  the  habitually 
irritated  sick  can  know  how  to  value.  A  sin 
gle  maid-servant  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house 
theoretically  attended  upon  her  young  mistress, 
and  practically  forgot  her.  The  girl  took  this 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  reduced  her  wants  to 
her  circumstances,  with  the  patient  grace  of  the 
frequently  neglected  invalid.  It  was  easier  to 
thirst  for  water  out  of  reach,  or  pant  for  the 
motion  of  the  great  fan  that  hung  idly  in  the 
sultry  room  over  the  head  of  her  couch,  than  to 
stop  her  ears  from  her  mother's  shrill  voice,  or 


COME  FORTH.  29 

shrink  from  her  father's  severity.  Malachi  had 
never  forgiven  his  only  child  for  being  a  girl. 
A  sick  one  at  that,  —  was  he  not  an  unfortu 
nate  man  ? 

Ariella  thought  him  so  ;  and  meekly  re 
proached  herself  for  her  calamity.  Ariella  was 
the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world.  Before  her  mis 
fortune,  many  a  young  Jew  thought  so,  —  Laza 
rus,  her  neighbor,  among  them.  But  affliction 
had  shut  her  quite  away  from  other  young  peo 
ple  for  now  so  many  years  that  she  was  well 
forgotten.  It  is  not  impossible  that  between 
herself  and  Lazarus  there  might  once  have  ex 
isted  one  of  those  vague,  immature  attractions 
which  youth  and  maiden  scarcely  recognize 
enough  to  call  them  passions,  yet  which  lend  a 
certain  tender  reverence  to  their  impressions  of 
each  other  in  womanhood  and  manhood.  Laza 
rus  felt  sorry  for  Ariella.  Ariella  thought  kindly 
of  Lazarus.  She  considered  him  a  handsome 
man.  Sometimes  she  saw  him  passing  the  house 
on  his  way  to  Jerusalem.  Once  in  a  while  he 
remembered  to  salute  her  as  he  passed.  Other 
wise  they  never  met.  She  had  been  a  beautiful 
girl,  merry,  mocking  and  bewitching.  She  had 
faded  out  of  the  sensibility  of  Lazarus,  as  the 
color  fades  from  a  poor  piece  of  Tyrian  stuff 
when  left  forgotten  in  the  sun  and  dew.  Might 
she  have  been  the  ruling  power  of  his  heart? 


30  COME  FORTH. 

She  had  become  only  one  of  its  humane  regrets. 
Yet  nearer  than  Ariella  no  woman  had  ever 
come  to  the  life  of  this  pure  and  meditative  Jew. 
Ariella  experienced  the  peculiar  fate  of  the 
sick  :  to  taste  of  death  before  one's  time,  yet  to 
possess  the  passions  of  life ;  to  lie  like  the 
wounded  soldier  — 

"  Unable  or  to  move,  or  die  ;  " 

to  become  a  ghost  in  the  hearts  of  one's  friends ; 
to  receive  from  them  the  regretful  tribute  that 
we  give  to  the  buried,  yet  to  throb  with  the 
hopes,  longings,  ambitions,  all  the  eager  unsatis 
fied  powers  of  possible  activity,  —  this  is  the  in 
valid's  lot. 

Ariella  tried  to  bear  it  patiently.  But  she 
was  very  young.  It  went  hard  sometimes. 

Her  misfortune  befell  her  on  this  wise :  Upon 
an  early  summer  evening,  when  Ariella  was  six 
teen  years  of  age,  she  was  sent  by  her  mother  to 
the  fountain  of  En-shemesh,  a  mile  down  the 
road  to  Jericho,  for  water,  the  cistern  in  the 
court  being  dry,  the  drought  severe.  Veiled 
and  protected  by  the  reserve  of  a  modest  Jewish 
maiden,  Ariella  obeyed  fearlessly.  It  was  not 
thought  to  be  a  dangerous  errand  so  near  the 
vicinity  of  the  city ;  for  Jerusalem  was  less  than 
two  miles  from  Bethany.  But  Bethany  lay  upon 
the  highroad  to  Jericho,  and  beyond  the  sub 
urban  shadow  was  a  wild  road  infested  with 
robbers  and  barbarians, 


COME  FORTH.  31 

One  of  these  lawless  fellows,  venturing  too 
near  civilization,  overtook  the  beautiful  girl  on 
her  return.  "  To  my  tribe  I  '11  take  thee  !  "  he 
said  brutally.  Ariella  flung  the  jar  from  her 
head  and  fled.  Probably  the  marauder  meant 
less  than  he  said,  but  murder  would  not  have 
terrified  the  maiden  more.  Arms  of  man  had 
never  touched  her,  and  she  flew  for  dearer  than 
life.  The  ruffian  caught  her,  and  a  terrible 
struggle  followed.  Her  cries  brought  Malachi, 
her  father,  who  had  been  sent  by  his  wife  to 
conduct  her  home,  puffing  to  the  spot.  The  fel 
low  was  arrested  and  fined  four  hundred  zug  for 
uncovering  the  face  of  a  woman  in  public.  But 
the  girl  was  hurt.  In  her  struggle  she  had  re 
ceived  a  severe  spinal  injury. 

That  was  nine  years  ago.  Ariella  was  now 
twenty-five,  and  the  despair  of  the  best  medical 
skill  of  Jerusalem.  She  had  become  that  most 
pitiful  of  human  beings,  —  a  young  invalid 
"  given  up." 

Ariella  was  lying  quite  peacefully  on  her  low 
couch,  upon  the  morning  when  she  was  left 
alone.  Neighbors  would  come  in  presently  ;  she 
liked  these  neighbors,  —  Rachel,  the  mother  of 
Baruch,  and  Baruch  himself,  the  blind  man. 
They  knew  what  it  was  to  be  unfortunate,  to  be 
not  like  other  people.  They  could  understand. 

Ariella   wore  a  white,  thin  robe,  inwrought 


32  COME  FORTH. 

with  silk  embroidery  at  the  edges  in  a  little  de 
sign  of  field  lilies.  She  lay  within  it,  white  and 
sweet,  a  lily  herself,  living  through  a  long 
drought.  Her  face  was  exquisitely  modeled.  It 
had  the  delicacy  of  line  which  comes  from  pro 
longed  and  profound  suffering  patiently  borne. 

But  when  their  neighbor  Rachel  came  to  her, 
she  brought  a  disappointment.  She  could  not 
remain.  A  servant  was  sick  in  the  house  of 
Rachel,  and  required  her  presence. 

"  And  as  for  leaving  thee  alone,"  said  Rachel, 
with  motherly  decision,  "  it  is  not  to  be  thought 
of.  I  shall  send  Baruch  without  me.  He  shall 
come  to  thee  ;  and  that  girl  Deborah  must  re 
main  within  hearing.  I  '11  see  to  her !  Leave  it 
to  me.  Baruch's  misfortune  and  thine  own  pro 
tect  thee.  For  my  part,  I  say  it  is  becoming 
enough,  considering  Deborah ;  and  I  '11  answer 
for  the  propriety  of  it  to  thy  parents  and  to  all 
Judea  too,  if  need  be.  Thou  art  not  like  others, 
Ariella.  No  evil  tongue  can  harm  thee." 

Then  it  befell  —  for  Ariella  raised  no  objec 
tions,  seeing  none  —  that  Ariella  and  Baruch 
passed  some  hours  of  that  morning  in  a  seclusion 
and  freedom  unusual  to  Jewish  young  people. 

They  accepted  the  situation  as  sedately  as 
two  spirits ;  and  the  mother  of  Baruch  blessed 
them  and  left  them  contentedly,  promising  to 
look  in  upon  them  when  she  could,  and  roundly 


COME  FORTH.  33 

rating  Deborah  up  to  her  duty  as  the  feminine 
dea  ex  machina  of  the  position.  Baruch  and 
Deborah  and  Rachel  between  them  moved  the  cot 
of  Ariella  into  the  court.  Baruch  seated  him 
self  beside  it,  leaning  against  one  of  the  stone 
pillars.  The  hot  morning  grew  ;  the  court  was 
peaceful ;  the  house  was  still.  Deborah  sang  at 
her  work,  chanting  from  the  Psalms  ;  Ariella 
and  Baruch  chatted  quietly.  How  pleasant  it 
was ! 

But  Baruch  was  born  blind. 

"  Thy  fate  is  worse  than  mine,"  said  Ariella, 
pitifully. 

"  But  I  can  walk,"  said  Baruch  bravely. 

"  Thou  art  a  man  and  strong,"  urged  Ariella 
with  pretty  feminine  instinct.  This  pleased  the 
blind  man,  and  he  flushed  gratefully. 

44  Yes,"  he  nodded.  "  Yes,  I  am  quite  strong. 
I  lift  many  a  burden  for  my  mother." 

"  She  says  thou  art  a  good  son,"  cooed  Ariella. 

"  I  could  lift  thy  cot  and  thee,  and  carry  thee 
about  the  court,  and  set  thee  down  like  a  spar 
row's  feather,"  protested  Baruch. 

"  Nay,  then,  do  it !  "  laughed  the  sick  girl 
merrily.  In  her  heart  she  thought  she  should 
enjoy  it.  What  fun  to  frolic  —  like  other  girls ! 

But  Baruch  shook  his  head. 

44 1  might  hit  thee  against  one  of  the  pillars, 
or  jar  thee  because  I  could  not  see.  We  are  not 
like  others,  Ariella  ;  we  may  not  play." 


34  COME  FORTH. 

Secretly,  Ariella  liked  this  tone  of  authority  ; 
she  yielded  to  it  agreeably,  as  the  feather  of  the 
wheat  yields  to  the  rising  wind.  Baruch  was 
a  manly  fellow.  She  looked  at  his  strong 
and  patient  face  ;  she  could  watch  him  quite 
freely. 

"  Thou  hast  the  advantage  of  me,"  said  Baruch, 
after  a  silence.  Ariella  blushed.  How  should 
he  know  that  she  observed  him  ?  She  felt  sorry, 
as  if  she  had  committed  some  rudeness. 

"  Thinkest  thou  I  take  an  advantage  ?  "  asked 
Ariella  penitently.  "  I  will  not  err  any  more." 

"  Have  it  or  take  it,"  replied  the  blind  man 
heartily.  "  Use  it  in  either  way.  I  grudge 
nothing  to  thine  advantage,  saving  that  it  is  one 
I  may  not  exercise  against  thyself,  sweet  neigh 
bor.  I  should  use  it  if  I  could,  I  pray  thee  to 
believe  me." 

"  I  am  not  much  to  look  at,"  parried  Ariella, 
with  a  little  pardonable  touch  of  feminine  co 
quetry.  "  I  am  very  thin,  and  my  face  is  long 
and  white." 

"My  mother  tells  me  thou  art  fair  to  look 
upon,"  replied  Baruch  simply.  Again  Ariella 
felt  somehow  rebuked.  She  had  often  in  the 
presence  of  Baruch  the  consciousness  of  a  more 
massive  character  than  her  own.  Was  this  the 
influence  of  his  supreme  affliction  ?  Her  own 
seemed  small  beside  it. 


COME  FORTH.  35 

Sometimes  she  was  so  sorry  for  Baruch  that 
she  could  have  wept  for  him. 

Sometimes  Baruch  was  so  sorry  for  Ariella 
that  he  could  have  knelt  at  her  white  feet  and 
kissed  them. 

"  Deborah !  "  called  Ariella  suddenly.  "  Deb 
orah  !  come  hither.  I  desire  the  fan  brought 
from  the  inner  chamber." 

Deborah  was  shouting  out  an  imprecatory 
Psalm  at  the  top  of  her  lungs.  She  did  not 
hear. 

"  I  will  bring  the  fan,"  said  Baruch.  He  rose 
and  went  slowly  into  the  chamber  of  Ariella. 
With  eyes  which  saw  nothing,  with  a  heart 
which  perceived  —  who  shall  say  how  much  ?  — 
he  felt  his  way  delicately  across  that  sanctuary 
of  purity  and  suffering.  He  raised  his  hands 
above  the  white  bed  where  she  slept  the  light 
sleep  of  pain.  Groping,  he  found  the  large  sus 
pended  fan,  and  returned  with  it  quickly  to  the 
court.  He  came  out  of  the  chamber  with  his 
head  bent  like  a  man  who  could  see,  but  would 
not. 

Now  this  procedure  on  the  part  of  Baruch  was 
absolutely  unconventional,  —  almost  unpardon 
able  by  Oriental  social  ethics.  But  Baruch  was 
not  like  other  men.  Ariella  thanked  him  with 
an  unconsciousness  which  in  his  turn  made  him 
feel  abashed  before  her.  His  long,  thin,  sen- 


36  COME  FORTH. 

sitive  fingers  touched  the  tissue  drapery  of  her 
couch,  hesitated,  and  trembled  on  the  edge  of 
her  white  robe. 

"  It  is  embroidered  with  lilies,"  he  said,  and 
laid  it  gently  down.  Ariella  looked  at  him  a 
little  perplexed.  What  ailed  Baruch  ? 

"  Deborah  !  "  she  called.     "  Deborah  !  " 

But  Deborah  was  cooking  vegetables  and  fish 
for  the  noon  meal,  and  was  quite  out  of  the  way. 
In  default  of  a  matron  a  girl  changes  the  sub 
ject.  Ariella  did  this  with  the  quick-wittedness 
of  her  sex.  The  talk  between  herself  and 
Baruch  was  becoming  uncomfortable. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  that  the 
new  Rabbi  will  discourse  in  the  synagogue  to 
day.  I  should  like  to  hear  him  —  if  I  were  like 
other  girls." 

"  I  would  bring  him  hither,  —  I  will  bring 
him  !  "  cried  Baruch  eagerly. 

"  Thou  speakest  like  a  good  neighbor  and  a 
kind  friend,  Baruch.  But  that  which  thou  say- 
est  is  as  impossible  as  for  me  to  arise  and  walk 
into  Jerusalem." 

"  I  am  not  sure  "  —  began  the  blind  man,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  Of  what  art  thou  then  not  sure  ? "  asked 
Ariella. 

"  That  the  thing  of  which  thou  speakest  is  im 
possible,  dear  Ariella."  Once  in  a  great  while, 


COME   FORTH.  37 

Baruch  called  his  young  neighbor,  dear  Ariella. 
Their  afflictions  fostered  between  them  space  for 
an  affection  which  both  were  too  delicate  to  mis 
manage  or  to  misunderstand. 

"  I  know  not  what  you  mean,"  said  Ariella's 
sweet,  pathetic  voice.  "  Many  physicians  have 
considered  my  case.  My  father  avows  he  has 
paid  his  last  shekel  to  the  tribe  of  them  on  my 
behalf.  Jerusalem  ?  —  I  shall  never  set  my  foot 
beyond  this  courtyard,  Baruch,  unless  I  be  borne 
by  the  hands  of  others.  Sometimes,  when  it  is 
not  too  much  trouble,  my  father  has  carried  me 
without  that  I  may  look  abroad.  I  saw  the  sun 
set  three  times  above  the  heights  of  Zion  last 
summer.  That  was  a  pleasure,  verily !  He  had 
grown  large  since  I  saw  him  last,  —  I  thought 
within  myself  that  he  had  come  to  manhood. 
He  was  a  boy-sun  when  I  looked  upon  him  be 
fore  !  "  Ariella  laughed.  She  had  a  delightful 
laugh. 

"He  of  whom  we  speak  healeth  many  that 
are  sick,"  pursued  Baruch. 

"  But  not  me,"  said  Ariella.  "  No  man  heal 
eth  me-." 

"  Ariella,"  said  the  blind  man  solemnly,  ris 
ing  and  lifting  his  sightless  eyes  to  heaven, 
"as  Jehovah  heareth,  I  misdoubt  sometimes 
if  this  man  be  not  more  than  man  like  other 


38  COME  FORTH. 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say,"  cried  Ariella, 
"  that  you  take  that  view  of  this  new  favorite  of 
the  people  ?  You  do  not  believe  he  is  "  — 

"  Say  it  not."  interrupted  the  blind  man,  — 
"  say  not  the  word.  If  it  be  he  that  was  written 
of,  verily  time  will  prove.  Almighty  God  will 
prove.  For  me,  I  wait.  But  I  watch,  Ariella. 
I  may  confess  to  thee.  Yes,  I  watch." 

At  this  moment,  Baruch  had  the  aspect  of  a 
man  who  saw,  not  the  little  things  that  others 
see,  —  earth,  sky,  sea,  human  faces,  human  art, 
and  the  incidents  that  appeal  to  human  passions, 
—  but  invisible  powers,  and  influences  that  are 
arguments ;  facts  so  fine  that  the  normal  action 
does  not  recognize  them  as  forces.  Baruch  saw 
with  the  eyes  of  the  soul. 

"And  what  go  ye  out  for  to  see?"  asked  the 
girl  thoughtfully.  "  A  prophet  ?  " 

"  And  perchance,  yea,  more  than  a  prophet," 
said  Baruch  softly. 

"  I  have  thought,"  whispered  Ariella,  "  that 
he  was  not  like  other  men,  —  not  like  Malachi, 
my  father,  nor  yet  like  Lazarus.  Sometimes  I 
have  bethought  me,  Baruch,  that  he  must  be 
like  thyself." 

"  Oh,  Ariella  !  Nay,  nay.  Hush,  Ariella !  " 
Impulsively  the  blind  man  put  his  finger  on 
her  lip.  The  warm,  sweet,  soft  flesh  quivered 
beneath  his  finely  sentient  nerve.  Baruch  trem- 


COME   FORTH.  39 

bled.  The  girl  flushed.  He  withdrew  his  touch 
humbly,  and  bowed  his  head. 

Neither  of  these  two  denied  young  people 
spoke  again  for  some  moments  after  this,  and 
the  man  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  He 
returned  doggedly  to  his  theme. 

"  It  has  been  heavy  upon  my  mind  for  some 
time  past,  Ariella.  If  he  healeth  others,  why 
not  thee?  I  would  that  he  should  see  thee. 
Wouldst  thou  receive  him  if  I  brought  him 
hither?" 

"  But  he  would  not  come,  Baruch ! "  cried 
Ariella,  the  practical  side  of  her  nature  coming 
uppermost,  to  the  obliteration  for  the  moment  of 
her  feeling  of  gratitude  to  Baruch. 

"Verily  he  shall,  then,"  said  the  blind  man 
with  decision. 

"He  could  not  heal  me.  Nobody  can  heal 
me"  mourned  Ariella.  Baruch  shook  his  head 
obstinately. 

"  Thou  art  young,  thou  art  gentle  and  obedient, 
thou  art  maimed,  and  not  diseased.  He  healeth 
the  heavily  smitten  of  God ;  yea,  he  healeth 
sorer  sufferers.  Why,  Ariella,  it  is  reported  in 
Bethany  that  he  hath  healed  the  leprous,  and 
sent  them  sound  upon  the  ways  of  men." 

"  Even  a  leper,"  urged  Ariella,  with  the  easy 
despair  of  the  incurable  sick,  "  might  not  be  so 
hard  to  heal  as  a  girl  like  me." 


40  COME  FORTH. 

"  We  will  talk  of  it  no  more,"  said  Baruch, 
with  something  like  displeasure.  "  I  thought  to 
have  comforted  thee,  Ariella." 

" Forgive  me,  Baruch ! "  cried  the  girl.  "Thou 
art  all  things  kind  and  tender,  and  I  am  all 
things  rude  and  wrong.  I  bless  thee  for  thy 
dear  thought,  Baruch,  heal  he  or  heal  he  not. 
Thou  thinkest  for  me  like  a  brother.  I  never 
had  a  brother.  Thou  supportest  me.  Thou 
mightest  heal  me,  Baruch,  if  will  of  man  could 
do  the  deed.  I  am  very  tired,  Baruch.  I  am 
in  sore  pain.  Be  patient  with  me." 

"  Thou  mightest  as  well  ask  me  to  be  patient 
with  mine  own  heart,"  said  Baruch,  greatly 
moved.  "  Thou  art  dear  to  me,  Ariella.  Thou 
art  dearer  than  "  — 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  sick  girl  in  agitation,  com 
ing  to  her  senses,  "nay,  Baruch,  hush!  Tell  me 
not.  Say  it  not.  Nay,  I  must  not  hear." 

"  I  will  call  Deborah,"  said  Baruch  abruptly. 
"  I  must  return  home." 

But  poor  Ariella,  unused  to  the  ways  of  men 
in  moments  of  emotion,  burst  into  tears  and  hid 
her  face  upon  her  arm. 

"Go,"  she  said,  "go,  then.  We  do  each 
other  no  good.  Go  from  me." 

"  Then  I  will  not !  "  cried  Baruch,  with  mas 
culine  waywardness.  "  I  will  not  leave  thee. 
Call  Deborah,  if  thou  chooses t.  I  shall  re- 


COME  FORTH.  41 

"  And  I,"  said  Ariella  penitently,  "  will  see 
the  Rabbi,  if  thou  sayest.  Work  thy  will  in  the 
matter,  Baruch.  I  shall  not  oppose  thee." 

"  Who  knoweth,"  cried  Baruch  passionately, 
"  but  thou  too  mayst  be  blessed  by  the  virtue  of 
that  Wondrous  Touch  ?  Men  say  who  have  felt 
it  that  it  is  like  fine,  fleet,  unhurting  fire  ;  that 
it  runneth  through  the  veins  like  the  wings  of 
life  ;  that  the  body  leaps  and  the  spirit  soars  as 
ascending  flame  goeth  heavenward  in  the  wind." 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,  —  that  is  like  it,  —  that  is 
what  I  need !  "  said  the  sick  girl  plaintively. 
"  Thinkest  thou,  Baruch,  he  could  put  the  flame 
of  life  into  a  poor  body  such  as  mine  ?  " 

"  Be  brave,"  urged  Baruch.  "  Have  courage, 
Ariella.  Thou  hast  suffered  with  strength. 
Endure  with  hope.  Thou  hast  more  strength 
than  courage." 

Now,  it  was  noticeable  in  this  conversation 
that  it  was  only  Ariella  of  whom  Baruch  spoke 
or  Ariella  thought.  It  never  occurred  to  either 
of  them  to  experiment  with  the  new  cure,  or  by 
the  great  wonder-worker,  in  behalf  of  this  self- 
forgetting,  afflicted,  self-restrained,  and  loving 
man.  For  Baruch  was  born  blind. 

"  Ariella !  "  murmured  Baruch,  "  Ariella  — 
'  Strength  of  God?  Thou  hast  a  fair  name, 
sweet  friend." 

"  It  shameth  me,"  sighed  Ariella. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TIBERIUS,  Emperor  of  Rome  ;  Pontius  Pilate, 
Procurator ;  Caiaphas,  High  priest :  thus  ran 
the  order  of  authority  at  our  story's  day.  The 
father-in-law  of  Caiaphas,  Annas,  called  High 
priest  by  courtesy,  High  priest  in  fact  for  seven 
years,  and  long  since  deposed,  held  his  great  rank 
and  importance  in  the  social  world  of  Jerusalem. 
His  was  the  extraordinary,  known  as  the  priestly 
family,  which  filled  the  sacred  office,  at  a  time 
when  it  was  the  toy  of  politics,  for  a  proud 
period  of  fifty  years.  The  position  of  Annas  in 
Jerusalem  was  as  unassailable  as  that  of  Solo 
mon. 

Lazarus  approached  the  palace  not  entirely 
without  a  sense  of  awe.  The  rich  and  indepen 
dent  Pharisee  was,  nevertheless,  a  Jew.  He  and 
the  ex-High  priest,  Sadducee,  member  of  the 
Sanhedrim,  and  aristocrat  to  the  sandals,  owned 
the  common  national  traditions,  memories,  pray 
ers,  and  hopes.  Politics  and  theology  at  their 
worst  could  not  wither  respect  for  the  Temple 
and  its  officers  out  of  the  Jewish  heart.  It 
meant  a  good  deal  to  the  master-builder  to  have 
an  order  from  the  palace  of  Annas. 


COME  FORTH.  43 

Lazarus  descended  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and 
crossed  the  celebrated  bridge  that  spanned  the 
brook  Kidron  and  brought  the  traveler  to  the 
Temple  gates.  He  passed  reverently  through  the 
outer  courts  of  the  Temple,  and  without  delay 
ing  there  crossed  the  Tyropceon  Valley  by  an 
other  well  -  worn  and  well  -  built  bridge,  and  so 
reached  Mount  Zion,  the  mountain  of  sanctity 
and  royalty,  the  home  of  priests  and  palaces. 
Here  glittered  the  imposing  castle  of  Herod  the 
Great,  that  prince  who  had  two  passions,  one  for 
building  and  one  for  murder.  Here  stood  the 
more  modest  palace  of  the  Maccabees,  the  pal 
ace  of  Caiaphas,  and  here  the  haughty  home  of 
Annas. 

It  was  a  stately  building  of  stone,  fitted  and 
furnished  with  wood,  and  much  decorated  after 
the  severe  method  of  the  race.  No  sculpture 
was  admitted  to  the  Jewish  dwelling ;  even  the 
human  or  animal  figure  was  forbidden.  The 
graven  image  savored  of  idolatry  and  Babylon, 
and  the  outer  courts  of  pagan  temples.  The  dec 
orator  among  these  stern  and  obedient  people 
had  small  leeway  for  the  wings  of  his  fame. 
He  worked  strenuously,  soberly,  honestly,  and 
atoned  for  freedom  of  imagination  by  severity 
of  labor. 

The  palace  was  large,  of  course  ;  so  large  as 
to  contain  a  number  of  courts,  —  the  great  court 


44  COME   FORTH. 

and  its  minor  imitations.  This  meant  vast  con 
venience  according  to  the  Oriental  standard ; 
hospitality,  and  space  for  it ;  family  comforts 
and  cool  evening  rendezvous,  and  room  enough 
for  the  women  on  their  side  of  the  palace. 

Lazarus  took  in  with  the  keen  eye  of  the 
craftsman  the  fine  points  of  the  palace,  as  he 
stood  waiting  in  the  antechamber  for  the  pre 
sence  of  Annas  the  priest.  This  chamber  was 
spacious  and  cool ;  fine  rugs  lay  upon  its  mar 
ble  floor ;  others  hung  across  ottomans  ranged 
along  the  sides  of  the  walls.  The  sparsity  of 
furniture  in  an  Oriental  home  is  consistent  with 
the  greatest  wealth.  Lazarus  did  not  sit.  He 
observed  thoughtfully.  The  size  of  the  palace 
made  it  comparatively  quiet ;  the  soft  steps  of 
slaves  passing  to  and  fro,  with  the  slight  fla-flap 
of  bare  brown  heels,  gave  the  only  interruption 
to  the  dreamy  quiet  of  the  spot.  Lazarus  yielded 
to  the  pleasant  influence  ;  he  felt  that  it  was  well 
to  be  a  man  of  the  world ;  he  remembered  his 
middle-class  belongings,  his  heresies,  his  entan 
glement  with  the  unpopular  Rabbi  ;  and  for  the 
first  time  he  bethought  himself  how  this  proud 
Sadducee  was  likely  to  regard  him. 

"  A  mere  workman,  of  course,"  said  Lazarus 
half  aloud.  "  A  carpenter,  fit  only  to  take  his 
orders." 

Now,  Lazarus  was  not  accustomed  to  be  so- 


COME  FORTH.  45 

cially  looked  down  upon ;  in  his  own  class  lie 
was  important,  authoritative.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  working  chiefly  for  his  own  class  ;  he 
found  the  new  sensation  not  wholly  pleasant ;  he 
straightened  his  fine,  manly  figure,  and  threw 
back  his  young  head. 

At  this  moment  the  luxurious  silence  of  the 
palace  was  broken  by  a  sweet  sound.  It  was 
the  clear  ring-ringing  of  a  girl's  laugh. 

Lazarus  started  and  stared.  What  a  laugh  it 
was  !  Verily,  he  thought,  in  all  Judea  there  was 
no  gayer.  Who,  pray,  was  so  merry,  and  where 
fore,  in  this  lordly  place  ?  Lazarus  looked 
eagerly  into  the  great  court.  As  he  did  so,  a 
flash  like  passing  light  shimmered  and  swept  be 
fore  his  eyes.  A  woman's  form  seemed  to  him 
to  flit  before  him ;  yet,  indeed,  he  could  not 
aver  that  it  was  a  woman.  It  was  singing  light, 
it  was  flying  music.  The  young  man  drew  the 
inference  that  a  woman  was  implied  in  this  phe 
nomenon.  If  it  was  a  woman,  she  was  clothed 
in  Tyrian  purple,  and  her  figure  glittered  with 
gold  and  moved  like  fire.  If  it  was  a  vision,  it 
wore  the  colors  of  the  sky  and  earth  at  their 
bridal,  and  took  to  itself  the  wings  of  sera 
phim. 

Lazarus  stood  color  -  struck,  wonder-struck, 
feverishly  impetuous.  No  person  was  in  sight, 
except  a  slave  crossing  the  court,  with  a  silver 


46  COME  FORTH. 

pitcher  poised  upon  a  turbaned  head.    The  slave 
was  sixty,  and  a  man. 

At  this  moment  a  voice  said  coldly  :  — 
"  Do  I  behold  Lazarus  the  Builder  ?  " 
Lazarus  turned,  embarrassed.  In  this  awk 
ward  position  of  spying  for  women  in  his  palace, 
Annas  the  High  priest  must  needs  discover  him. 
But  Lazarus  recovered  himself  like  a  man  of 
experience,  and,  bowing  with  grave  courtesy, 
looked  his  interlocutor  easily  in  the  eye.  It  was 
a  piercing  eye.  It  was  a  reverend  figure.  Tall, 
spare,  calm,  and  imposing,  the  High  priest  stood 
even  before  his  builder,  like  the  Ark  before  the 
Race.  His  simplest  attitude  expressed  the  con 
sciousness  of  authority  and  sanctity,  no  more  to 
be  disturbed  than  the  sense  of  royalty  in  a  prince 
imperial,  heir  to  the  throne  of  centuries.  His 
hair  and  beard,  uncut  and  finely  preserved,  flowed 
like  a  silver  stream  upon  his  shoulders  and  his 
breast.  His  gray  eyebrows  were  thick,  and  met 
in  a  straight  frown.  Annas  was  dressed  with  the 
splendor  belonging  to  his  caste.  The  ex-High 
priest  retained,  with  indifference  to  the  strictest 
law,  the  blue  robe  and  fine  ephod  of  his  former 
office.  The  skirt  of  the  robe  was  trimmed  with 
pomegranates  woven  in  blue,  red,  and  crimson  ; 
he  no  longer  wore  the  tinkling  bells  which  rang 
between  each  pomegranate,  nor  the  towering  mitre 
of  active,  priestly  life.  But  take  him  altogether, 


COME  FORTH.  47 

he  was  an  imposing  and  glittering  figure.  He 
wore  all  he  could. 

44  You  are  Lazarus  the  Builder,"  repeated  the 
High  priest. 

44 1  am  he,"  replied  Lazarus.  44 1  await  your 
pleasure." 

44 1  am  told,"  pursued  Annas,  44  that  you  are 
a  skilled  workman." 

44 1  am  a  contractor,"  answered  Lazarus,  with 
the  slightest  possible  hauteur.  44 1  am  a  master- 
mechanic." 

44  Think  you,"  proceeded  Annas,  with  a  little 
lifting  of  the  eyebrow  lines,  44  that  you  can  rem 
edy  certain  defects  which  exist  in  the  construc 
tion  of  a  portion  of  our  palace  with  the  quality 
of  execution  plainly,  as  you  perceive,"  —  Annas 
waved  his  hand  about  the  antechamber,  —  44  ne 
cessary  to  the  harmony  of  the  house  ?  " 

44 1  should  hope,"  replied  Lazarus,  with  a 
slight  flush,  44  that  nothing  which  I  attempted  to 
do,  or  contracted  to  do,  would  prove  unworthy 
of  any  position  in  which  I  should  venture  to 
place  my  work." 

44  You  set  a  considerable  value  upon  yourself, 
it  seems,  my  worthy  sir,"  said  the  priest,  with  a 
sharp  look. 

4'  Upon  myself  none  that  may  not  become  a 
self-respecting  citizen.  Upon  my  work,  yea  ver 
ily,  I  do  set  the  value  of  trained  skill  and  honest 
exercise  thereof.  It  is  not  a  low  one." 


48  COME  FORTH. 

"  Hath  it  a  high  standard  in  the  coin  of  the 
land  ?  "  inquired  Annas,  with  the  negligence  of 
a  sacred  man  who  is  apt  in  striking  a  worldly 
bargain. 

"  Show  me  the  work,"  replied  Lazarus  con 
cisely.  "  I  can  make  my  terms  at  sight  of  it." 

Annas  summoned  a  slave,  who  forthwith  con 
ducted  Lazarus  into  the  extreme  limit  of  the 
palace.  The  High  priest,  lingering,  it  seemed 
for  no  reason  in  particular,  unless  it  were  the 
sense  of  dignity  to  be  found  in  walking  by  him 
self,  followed  immediately. 

"I  desire,"  he  said,  "certain  changes  made  in 
the  women's  portion  of  the  palace.  A  couple  of 
cedar  pillars  in  the  court  appear  to  me  to  need 
repair.  One  hath  tottered;  and  the  carving 
hath  a  ragged  appearance.  I  may  replace  them 
with  stone,  for  they  contradict  our  fashion  of 
architecture.  You  will  oblige  me  by  examining 
the  matter." 

Lazarus  obeyed  in  silence,  testing  the  pillars 
both  by  his  eye  and  his  hand,  with  the  rapid  ob 
servation  of  skilled  experience. 

"  This  one,"  he  said  decidedly,  "  is  positively 
dangerous.  It  might  yield  at  any  moment.  It 
should  be  propped  before  another  sun  setteth 
over  the  palace  roof.  The  cedar  wood  was  ill 
selected  and  decayeth,  and  is  no  more  to  be 
trusted  than  an  idolater  from  Babylon.  The 


COME  FORTH.  49 

other  might  be  strengthened.  It  is  better  to 
renew  them  both  and  recarve  the  lintels  with 
the  pillars." 

"Your  price?"  demanded  the  High  priest, 
without  further  comment. 

"  Three  thousand  denarii." 

"  It  is  too  large  a  sum,  sir  builder." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Lazarus  coldly. 

"  I  cannot  pay  it." 

"  That  is  your  affair." 

"  You  will  take  two  thousand  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  my  price." 

"  Reconsider,  then,  the  importance  of  the  un 
dertaking,  —  the  reputation  to  be  gained  by  this 
contract." 

"  My  reputation,  such  as  it  is,  is  made,"  re 
plied  Lazarus.  "It  does  not  depend  upon 
one  contract.  Jerusalem  knoweth  Lazarus  the 
builder." 

"You  will  reduce  your  terms  —  say  twenty- 
five  hundred  denarii "  — 

"  I  have  said,"  answered  Lazarus,  with  dig 
nity. 

"  We  will  consider  our  conference  at  an  end, 
then,"  replied  the  High  priest  haughtily. 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Lazarus  again. 

He  bowed  respectfully.  Annas  made  a  cour 
teous  gesture  of  dismissal  and  farewell.  Laza 
rus  left  the  palace  in  silence. 


50  COME  FORTH. 

Certain  business  of  the  synagogue  took  him 
to  the  house  of  Malachi  on  the  way  home ;  and 
he  had  an  errand  to  perform  for  Martha  at  the 
home  of  Rachel,  where  blind  Baruch  delayed 
him  to  ask  further  questions  concerning  the 
Rabbi  who  healed.  It  was  quite  late  in  the 
evening  when  Lazarus  reached  his  own  dwelling. 
Martha  bustled  out  to  meet  him  with  the  an 
nouncement  that  a  servant  of  the  High  priest 
awaited  him.  Lazarus  without  undue  haste 
summoned  the  man,  who  reported  that  his  mas 
ter  desired  the  presence  of  the  builder  at  an 
early  hour  of  the  following  day.  Lazarus 
obeyed  this  command,  which  did  not  surprise 
him,  and  presented  himself  in  the  cool  of  the 
morning  at  the  palace.  Annas  did  not  person 
ally  appear.  Lazarus  was  received  by  an  officer 
of  the  High  priest,  who  requested  that  the  work 
upon  the  pillar  might  begin  at  once,  and  offi 
cially  accepted  the  terms  of  the  builder. 

"  My  master  requires  to  know  that  you  will 
begin  ;  if  there  is  a  question  of  security  to  the 
women  of  his  household,  he  desires  the  greatest 
possible  haste." 

"  My  men  and  material  shall  be  upon  the 
spot  at  the  third  hour/'  replied  the  master-me 
chanic  promptly. 

"  The  High  priest  has  felt  concern  in  the  mat 
ter,"  observed  the  officer.  "The  apartments 


COME  FORTH.  51 

of  his  daughter  are  within  that  portion  of  the 
palace." 

Lazarus  bowed  with  dignity;  he  made  no 
reply. 

Lazarus  had  the  conscience  of  the  ideal  me 
chanic,  and  his  word  was  his  deed.  At  the 
third  hour,  in  fact,  the  work  upon  the  palace 
began.  It  proved  to  be  a  serious  job,  and  Laz 
arus  undertook  it  seriously.  Before  the  setting 
of  the  sun,  the  dangerous  pillars  were  replaced 
by  temporary  substitutes,  which  insured  the 
safety  of  the  portico:  the  finer  mechanism  of 
repair  could  thus  go  on  with  more  leisurely 
thoroughness.  Lazarus  had  enthusiasm  in  the 
work,  and  with  this  bright  tool  it  went  forward 
busily.  He  absorbed  himself  in  his  duty.  For 
several  days  he  found  nothing  at  the  palace  to 
divert  him  from  his  absorption.  Only  the  officers 
and  servants  met  him.  Annas  did  not  again 
present  himself  to  the  builder. 

One  day,  toward  the  cool  of  the  day,  —  it  had 
been  exhaustingly  hot,  —  Lazarus,  wearied  with 
excessive  application  to  his  task,  seated  himself 
in  the  shade  of  the  palace  wall  to  rest  and  ob 
serve  at  a  little  distance  the  labors  of  his  men. 
He  leaned  against  the  wall  that  the  coolness  of 
the  stone  might  penetrate  his  fevered  flesh ;  and 
the  better  to  revive  himself  removed  his  turban 
for  a  moment,  exposing  to  full  view  his  fine 


52  COME  FORTH. 

head  and  the  manly  beauty  of  his  appearance. 
A  slight  stir  behind  him  attracted  his  attention, 
and  he  started,  standing,  turban  in  hand.  He 
saw  a  pleasant  sight. 

Between  two  carved  pillars  the  figure  of  a 
woman  —  of  a  young  woman  —  stood  hesitat 
ing.  She  seemed  uncertain  whether  she  wished 
to  venture  further,  and  equally  certain  that  she 
did  not  wish  to  retreat.  She  was  a  tall,  re 
splendent,  royal  girl,  haughty  of  mien,  yet  so 
womanly  of  contour  and  color  that  her  coldness 
sat  upon  her  like  a  garment  that  might  be 
burned  off,  or  blown  from  her.  She  gave  in  a 
glance  the  impression  of  a  woman  whom  the  fire 
or  the  whirlwind  of  feeling  might  toss  into  a 
melting,  yielding  creature,  yet  who  might  never 
melt,  or  never  yield,  or  never  feel.  She  was  ex 
ceedingly  beautiful  in  a  dazzling,  luxurious  way  : 
she  had  a  select  air  like  precious  wood,  rare 
tapestry,  or  a  carefully  set  gem.  She  wore  a 
robe  of  gold-colored  tissue,  inwrought  with  pur 
ple  silk,  and  bearing  a  deep  silk  fringe  headed 
by  half-pearls.  Pearls  of  value  hung  from  her 
arms  and  lay  upon  her  neck.  These  moved 
with  her  quick  breath  and  with  her  light,  sway 
ing  motions  as  she  stood  uncertain. 

The  lady  and  the  builder  looked  each  other 
steadily  in  the  eye  ;  for  she  had  removed  her 
veil,  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  did  not 


COME   FORTH.  53 

hurry  to  put  it  on  again.  She  had  a  pretty 
little  air  of  defiance.  She  was  accustomed  to 
please  herself.  She  was  too  far  above  reach  of 
ordinary  men  to  be  misunderstood.  What  was 
Lazarus  that  she  should,  at  the  threshold  of  her 
own  apartment,  in  the  palace  of  her  father,  veil 
herself  —  as  if  it  mattered  —  from  his  me 
chanic  ? 

Lazarus  was  the  first  to  speak.  Now  he  did 
not  say  the  expected  thing  at  all.  He  said  :  — 

"  Do  you  desire  me  to  depart  ?  " 

The  girl  gave  him  one  fine,  flashing  look.  If 
one  of  the  pillars  had  arisen  and  discoursed  in 
the  Temple,  she  would  have  found  it  perhaps  no 
more  unlooked-for. 

"  If  you  do,"  she  returned,  "  the  palace  will 
tumble  down  on  me." 

She  laughed.  Lazarus  felt  his  soul  leap 
within  his  body  at  that  light  laugh.  He  knew 
the  soft  torrent  of  music.  He  had  heard  it  that 
first  day  in  the  palace. 

"  By  the  faith  of  my  fathers  !  "  he  said  unto 
himself,  "  Judea  containeth  not  another  sound 
like  that."  Moved  by  he  knew  not  what  im 
pulse  stronger  than  all  the  little  aspects  of  life, 
the  young  Jew  looked  at  the  girl  as  if  his  daring 
eyes  and  her  fearless  face  were  the  only  facts  in 
the  world.  For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his 
life  Lazarus  spoke  without  reflection  or  previ- 


54  COME  FORTH. 

sion.  For  that  moment  he  became  a  free  soul : 
he  ceased  to  be  a  cautious  Jew. 

"  Verily,"  he  said,  "  I  know  not  who  thou  art, 
nor  how  I  should  address  thee  ;  but  this  I  know, 
—  thou  art  music  become  woman ;  and  I  have 
pleasure  in  the  sound  thereof." 

"  And  thou,"  returned  the  maiden,  with  a 
vivid  blush,  "art  a  bold  youth.  Yet  I  think 
thou  meanest  no  ill.  I  fear  thee  not." 

"  Thou  mightest  as  well  fear  thy  father  or 
thy  priest !  "  cried  Lazarus  hotly. 

"  My  father  is  my  priest,"  replied  the  girl, 
waving  her  hand  lightly.  "  Thou  beholdest  the 
daughter  of  Annas." 

"  And  thou  thy  father's  builder." 

"  Thou  hast  spoken  with  Zahara,"  pursued  the 
daughter  of  Annas. 

"And  thou  with  Lazarus,"  replied  the  con 
tractor. 

"  I  have  seen  no  such  manner  of  man,  among 
my  father's  retinue.  Thou  dost  interest  me," 
observed  Zahara  serenely.  "  I  have  little  to  in 
terest  me,"  she  added.  "  It  is  a  dull  thing  to 
be  a  woman." 

"  It  is  a  divine  thing  !  "  murmured  Lazarus 
impetuously. 

"I  did  not  understand  you,  sir,"  suggested 
the  maiden  demurely. 

"  I  shall  come  again  !  "  cried  Lazarus  under 


COME  FORTH.  55 

his  breath.  "  To-morrow,  —  another  day,  — 
many  days.  I  shall  see  thee  !  I  shall  see  thee 
again ! " 

"  Art  thou  then  so  sure  ?  "  mocked  Zahara. 
She  covered  him  with  a  glance  which  seemed  to 
set  his  still  soul  aflame,  as  a  field  of  husks 
flameth  in  accidental  fire,  drew  her  white  and 
golden  veil  suddenly  like  a  bright  cloud  across 
her  face,  and  vanished  from  his  sight. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LAZARUS  walked  home  like  a  man  blinded 
by  light.  His  head  swam  giddily.  The  blood 
leaped  in  his  veins.  The  stately  form  of  the 
Temple  shook  before  him  as  he  passed.  The  fa 
miliar  outline  of  Mount  Olivet  quivered  against 
his  eyeballs.  The  figures  of  people  in  the  road 
wavered  and  enlarged  and  dwindled  like  phan 
tasmagoria  seen  in  mist.  He  felt  as  if  he  moved 
above  them,  on  a  strange  high  level,  and  saw 
the  world  over  their  heads.  He  seemed  to  him 
self  like  a  spirit  escaped  from  the  body  and  set 
free  to  wander  at  will.  He  fled,  he  floated,  he 
drifted  across  the  currents  of  common  life.  He 
knew  not  whither  he  would  go,  nor  wherefore ; 
he  only  knew  that  he  fluttered  upon  a  sea  of  de 
light  and  despair.  He  only  knew  that  he  was 
alive  as  a  bird  is,  or  a  wind,  or  a  strong  tree,  or 
some  bright,  brute  thing  that  has  neither  con 
science,  nor  intellect,  nor  foresight ;  only  the 
sense  of  living  and  the  joy  of  it.  The  only  fact 
he  had  ever  dreamed  of  that  could  separate  soul 
and  body  in  like  manner  and  give  a  man  his 
utter  freedom  was  the  fact  of  death.  Now  here 


COME  FORTH.  57 

was  another,  unknown  to  his  grave  speculation, 
a  thing  till  then  as  unf athomed  by  the  calm  and 
thoughtful  Jew  as  the  basin  of  the  sea ;  here 
was  the  fact  of  love. 

To  Lazarus,  the  busy  mechanic,  the  sober 
householder,  the  steadiest  of  citizens,  the  most 
religious  of  devotees,  the  purest  of  men,  the 
serenest  of  spirits,  —  unto  Lazarus  had  occurred 
the  experience  which  shuts  itself  as  an  unsealed 
book  from  most  human  souls.  Lazarus  had 
been  overtaken  by  that  rare  and  mighty  angel, 
—  Instantaneous  Love. 

Now,  this  godly  young  Jew  knew  no  more 
what  to  do  with  this  state  of  things  than  if  he 
had  been  cast  bound  and  blindfold  into  the 
Lake  of  Gennesaret  in  a  midnight  tempest,  and 
deserted  there.  At  first  he  was  only  conscious 
of  the  fact  of  sinking  and  of  the  necessity  of  the 
fact.  Then  he  became  aware  of  the  struggle 
and  struck  out. 

"  It  is  a  dream,"  he  muttered.  "  I  forget  it. 
I  awake.  It  passeth.  I  do  dream." 

He  drew  his  firm  hand  over  his  eyes  con 
fusedly  :  it  was  as  if  he  would  brush  her  image 
away.  Nay,  then  !  She  was  no  such  film. 
Flesh  and  blood  will  not  melt  at  a  sign  of  dis 
missal.  Shall  a  man  wave  a  woman  out  of 
being  by  a  gesture?  She  standeth  tall  and 
haughty,  queenly,  a  form  of  power  and  a  face 


58  COME  FORTH. 

of  flashing  light.  She  defieth  his  signal.  She 
will  not  be  dismissed.  See!  how  she  holdeth 
her  ground,  mockingly,  merrily,  —  no  appari 
tion  she.  This  is  no  dream,  godly  Lazarus. 
Warm  as  the  bounding  blood  in  the  veins  of  a 
soft,  strong  woman,  the  vision  claspeth  thee. 

Lazarus,  as  he  walked,  staggered  under  the 
pressure  of  it.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  that 
sweet,  proud  creature  melted  into  his  very  being, 
and  as  if  the  drawing  of  his  breath  hung  upon 
her  curved  lips. 

"  Zahara  !  "  he  murmured,  "  Zahara !  " 

When  he  spoke  her  name  aloud  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  began  to  possess  her.  He  threw 
back  his  head  and  trod  proudly.  He  walked  in 
a  sweet  delirium. 

One  of  his  workmen  followed  him,  and  asked 
him  some  pressing  question  about  the  work  at 
the  palace. 

"  What  sayest  thou  ?  "  asked  Lazarus  con 
fusedly.  The  man  repeated  his  inquiry.  His 
master  replied  with  a  few  irrelevant,  hurrying 
words,  and  hastened  011 ;  he  felt  a  desperate 
need  of  being  alone. 

He  got  home  and  into  his  own  apartments  as 
quickly  as  he  might.  Martha  buzzed  about 
some  disturbing  trifle,  but  he  said  :  — 

"  I  pray  thee,  my  sister,  leave  the  matter 
alone.  I  am  weary,  and  would  be  at  peace." 


COME  FORTH.  59 

"  It  is  important,"  persisted  Martha.  "  I  must 
talk  to  somebody." 

"  Converse  with  Maryj  then,"  said  her  brother 
wearily. 

"One  might  as  well  talk  to  the  evening  star," 
cried  Martha. 

"  I  will  listen,  then,"  said  Lazarus,  a  little 
smitten  at  the  conscience ;  for  he  was  a  good 
brother,  and  not  a  man  to  disregard  a  woman's 
chatter. 

"  Nay,  then  !  "  answered  Martha  resentfully, 
"  I  have  naught  to  say  to  you." 

La,zarus  passed  on  into  his  chamber,  and  shut 
the  doors.  He  looked  about  the  familiar  place 
perplexedly.  He  felt  that  a  new  person  crossed 
the  threshold  ;  the  man  Lazarus,  whom  he  knew, 
had  passed  it  for  the  last  time.  He  did  not  rec 
ognize  himself.  He  was  not  used  to  dreams, 
and  to  strange  views  of  common  facts.  He  had 
lived  a  plain,  busy,  pious  life.  Nothing  like 
this  had  ever  come  within  his  knowledge.  His 
quiet  nature  was  now  a,  tempest.  All  his  stan 
dards  and  codes  were  capsized  like  little  shallops 
in  a  sudden  sea.  In  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling 
of  a  soft  eye,  a  woman  had  entered  his  calm 
world,  and  all  the  kingdoms  of  his  nature,  and 
the  glory  of  them,  were  beneath  her  feet.  He 
wished  that  he  could  have  laid  his  reverent  lips 
to  them,  —  those  veiled  feet.  This  eminently 


60  COME  FORTH. 

discreet  young  man  did  indeed  cherish  that  des 
perate  and  daring  desire.  How  gently  her  gar 
ments  flowed  about  them  !  —  as  a  modest  maid 
en's  should,  —  concealing  them  in  long,  soft 
folds,  as  if  she  trod  upon  morning  clouds.  Her 
drapery,  veil  beneath  veil,  inclosed  her  jealously. 
It  was  a  kind  of  haughtiness  in  her,  it  was  a 
kind  of  higher  modesty,  not  to  draw  the  veil 
across  her  face  at  first  glance  of  him,  —  her 
father's  workman.  Lazarus  recalled  this  with 
half  a  delight  and  half  a  stinging  shame.  His 
first  thought  was  :  — 

"  She  is  not  as  other  women.  She  doeth  her 
own  will.  She  is  a  princess." 

His  second :  — 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  Annas.  And  I  am 
Lazarus,  builder  to  the  High  priest,  her  father." 

What  was  he,  verily,  in  her  sight,  that  he 
should  dare  lift  up  so  much  as  his  thoughts  unto 
Zahara? 

It  was  dark  in  his  sumptuous  rooms.  The 
prosperous  man  paced  them  like  a  beggar.  In 
an  hour  he  felt  pauperized.  He  had  always 
been  so  sure  of  his  standing  in  the  world ;  his 
possessions  and  his  skill  had  meant  credit  and 
content ;  he  had  been  honored  ;  he  had  felt  that 
his  preference  would  be  regarded  by  the  women 
whom  he  knew;  it  had  never  occurred  to  the 
rich  builder  and  prominent  ecclesiastic  that  a 


COME   FORTH.  61 

woman  could  become  to  him  an  unattainable  fact 
in  life.  His  large,  mild  eyes  flashed  in  the  dark 
rooms. 

"  I  am  defied !  "  he  said  aloud.  "  I  am  de 
nied  !  "  What  would  Annas,  the  High  priest ; 
Annas,  member  of  the  Sanhedrim ;  Annas,  the 
Sadducee,  with  Lazarus,  his  builder,  the  Phar 
isee,  if  he  so  much  as  took  the  proud  name  of 
Zahara  upon  his  lips?  Truly,  as  a  slave  is 
hurled  from  his  master's  presence,  so  would  the 
father  of  Zahara  deal  with  the  man  whose  ver 
iest  shadow  should  fall  across  barriers  dearer  to 
Jewish  convention  than  life  itself.  Annas  was 
the  aristocrat  of  society  and  of  theology ;  Laz 
arus,  the  bourgeois  and  dissenter.  Nay,  the 
very  wealth,  position,  influence,  of  the  builder 
were  likely  to  be  sources  of  offense  to  the  patri 
cian.  Better  were  it  for  Lazarus  if  he  came 
like  a  beggar,  with  "  no  help  but  God  "  (as  his 
name  did  read),  and  sat  upon  the  palace  stairs  ; 
the  High  priest  would  have  regarded  him  as  a 
properly  classified  person,  who  knew  his  place 
and  kept  it,  flung  him  a  handful  of  coin,  and 
observed  him  no  more  than  the  ass  that  brought 
the  packs  of  provender  at  the  bidding  of  the 
slaves.  Who  knew  ?  A  man  might  snatch  the 
girl  at  such  a  vantage,  and  away  with  her. 

Lazarus  checked  his  feverish  walk,  threw 
himself  upon  a  rug,  and  in  the  prostrate  position 


62  COME  FORTH. 

dear  to  Oriental  emotion,  hid  his  face  and  bat 
tled  with  himself.  Lazarus  was  confounded  at 
his  own  condition.  Within  himself  he  found  a 
foreign  enemy ;  he  felt  himself  unlearned  in  the 
tactics  of  a  strange  war.  He  was  not  ready  to 
yield,  but  he  knew  not  how  to  fight.  He  did 
not  even  give  the  name  of  love  to  his  swift  and 
overwhelming  passion.  He  called  it  Zahara, 
and  studied  it  no  more. 

"  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow,"  he  thought : 
then  he  remembered  that  he  might  never  see  her 
on  any  morrow. 

"  But  I  shall !  "  he  cried.     "  But  I  will !  " 

Then  he  bethought  him  that  "  shall "  and 
"  will "  were  helpless  slaves  in  the  hopeless  situ 
ation.  He  was  accustomed  to  doing  as  he- chose. 
He  had  not  been  thwarted  before.  He  had  had 
his  way.  He  now  began  to  understand  that  he 
had  never  really  wished  for  anything  until  this 
hour.  This  new  suffering,  like  a  wild  creature 
unchained,  sprang  upon  him;  he  felt  himself 
like  a  person  wrestling  with  claws  and  teeth. 

At  intervals  he  repeated  her  name  aloud :  - 

"  Zahara !     Zahara !  " 

The  very  sound  of  it  seemed  to  him  to  scin 
tillate.  What  a  gorgeous  name  ! 

"Zahara — The  Bright  One.  Zahara  —  Daz 
zling  Whiteness.  I  worship  thee,  here  in  my 
dark  room,  Zahara,"  whispered  Lazarus. 


COME  FORTH.  63 

As  he  lay  there,  prostrate,  with  his  face  upon 
his  arms,  a  light  and  timid  sound  aroused  him. 
It  was  the  voice  of  Mary,  his  sister,  in  the  court 
beyond  his  doors. 

"  Art  thou  ill,  my  brother?  " 

"  Nay,  then,  my  sister,  I  am  well." 

"Comest  thou  not  forth  that  I  may  speak 
with  thee  ?  " 

"Is  it  a  matter  of  import  ? "  demanded  Laz 
arus. 

"  It  can  wait,"  said  Mary  gently.  "  I  would 
not  intrude  upon  thee." 

"  Thou  hast  not  the  soul  of  the  intruder,"  re 
plied  Lazarus,  with  the  hearty  voice  of  one  com 
ing  cordially  from  the  reveries  of  passion  to  the 
realities  of  home.  Mary  could  do  as  she  would 
with  Lazarus.  He  aroused  himself,  and  came 
out  into  the  court.  Mary  was  alone.  It  was 
late,  cool  evening;  the  brother  and  sister  sat 
down  upon  the  nearest  rug,  arid  settled  them 
selves  comfortably.  Mary  looked  at  Lazarus, 
but  not  keenly;  her  eyes  were  gentle  and' sweet. 
He  met  their  gaze  with  a  strange  sense  of  irre 
sponsible  guilt.  He  thought,  "  Mary  would 
not  understand.  Mary  could  not  understand." 

"  I  have  somewhat  to  say  unto  thee,"  began 
Mary  timidly.  "  Martha  would  have  spoken  of 
the  matter,  but  thou  repelledst  her." 

"  Martha  annoyed  me,"  said  Lazarus  shortly. 
"  Thou  never  doest  that." 


64  COME  FORTH. 

"He  hath  been  here,"  said  Mary,  with  un 
wonted  abruptness. 

"  He  ?     Here  ?     Thou  meanest "  — 

"Whom  could  I  mean?  We  know  but  One," 
replied  Mary  gravely.  "  The  Master  hath  vis 
ited  us." 

"  In  my  absence  ?  " 

"  In  thine  absence.  He  remained  with  us 
until  the  twelfth  hour ;  we  pressed  him  to  tarry 
further,  but  he  would  not,  though  Martha  made 
ready  the  upper  chamber  and  said  many  words 
to  him.  But  he  departed.  He  remained  not." 

Lazarus  was  silent  a  moment. 

"If  thou  hadst  been  here,"  observed  Mary, 
"  I  think  he  would  have  tarried." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  avowed  Lazarus. 

"  Why,  of  course  !  "  cried  Mary,  with  more 
than  usual  spirit.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  there 
were  a  singular  lack  of  animation  in  her  bro 
ther's  tone  and  manner.  Did  he  exhibit  the 
scorching  grief  she  expected  ?  Or  only  a  tender 
regret  ? 

"  Lazarus,"  she  said,  with  something  like  re 
proach.  "  Nearer  and  dearer  to  him  than  thy 
self  he  hath  but  one  other  friend  among  all 
that  name  the  name  of  his  disciples,  and  that 
thou  knowest." 

"  Thou  speakest  of  John  the  fisherman,  and 
thou  speakest  truly,  Mary.  The  Master  loveth 
him." 


COME  FORTH.  65 

"  And  thee !  And  thee,  likewise,  Lazarus ! 
His  own  lips  have  said  it.  His  own  deed  hath 
proved  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  thou  speakest 
coldly  of  him." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  cried  Lazarus,  starting.  "  I 
have  not  wavered.  If  any  may  be  loyal  to  him 
and  to  his  cause,  I  am  the  man.  My  heart  can 
never  chill  toward  him." 

But  as  he  spoke  the  words,  a  feeling  almost 
of  terror  came  over  Lazarus.  With  the  sudden 
warming  of  this  strong  and  splendid  flame  which 
that  day  within  his  nature  had  shot  fire,  would 
other  feeling,  must  other  feeling,  cool  by  hot 
compassion  ?  Was  it  possible  that  he,  Lazarus, 
beloved  of  One  on  whom  the  hopes  of  the  Race 
were  hanging,  tenderly  selected  by  that  sweet 
and  supreme  nature  to  the  affectionate  attitude 
of  intimate  friend,  —  was  it  possible  that  Laza 
rus  could  forget  the  Messiah  of  his  people,  the 
Jesus  of  his  personal  loyalty,  for  the  glance  of  a 
girl's  eye,  but  yesterday  unknown  ? 

"  It  grieveth  me,"  said  Lazarus  penitently, 
—  "it  grieveth  me  that  I  saw  him  not.  How 
seemed  he  ?  What  said  he  ?  " 

"  Worn,"  answered  Mary  sadly,  —  "  worn 
and  pale ;  his  countenance  hath  a  transparent 
look,  and  his  step  betokens  a  great  weariness. 
Verily,  Lazarus,  the  sight  went  to  my  heart." 

"  What  said  he  ?  "  pursued  Lazarus,  with  in 
creasing  sympathy. 


66  COME  FORTH. 

"  His  words  were  few,"  replied  Mary,  in  a 
tone  of  awe.  "  His  words  were  few,  and  pre 
cious." 

"  Canst  thou  not  recall  them  for  me,  my 
sister?" 

"  Nay,  my  brother ;  it  is  as  if  I  tried  to  recall 
the  rustling  of  the  wings  of  cherubim  above  the 
altar.  I  have  a  sense  of  sacred  sound  that  bore 
my  soul  above  my  body  ;  of  words  I  fear  I  can 
tell  thee  but  too  few.  It  ever  seemeth  to  me  an 
unbecoming  thing  to  take  his  words  upon  one's 
lips  unwarily." 

"  Of  what  did  he  discourse,  then  ?  —  if  thou 
venturest  not  to  quote  his  language,  for  which, 
indeed,  I  do  commend  thee,  Mary ;  and  better 
were  it  for  him  if  every  one  of  our  number  had 
so  wise  a  conscience.  We  have  tongues  too 
many  and  too  easy  in  our  flock.  I  have  myself 
admired  his  own  habit  in  this  regard.  He 
speaketh  with  more  dumbness,  and  is  silent 
with  more  voice,  than  any  man  it  hath  been  my 
lot  to  meet  in  this  world.  It  grieves  me  more 
and  more  that  I  did  miss  him.  Verily,  he  is 
dear  to  me,"  urged  Lazarus,  with  rising  feeling. 
"  Tell  me  of  what  he  did  discourse." 

"  Of  the  Roman  threat  and  the  Jewish  hatred," 
said  Mary  mournfully ;  "  of  the  barriers  set 
before  the  Father's  Truth  at  every  side, — but 
it  was  of  the  Truth  that  he  did  speak,  and  of  the 


COME  FORTH.  67 

Father.  He  said  few  words  concerning  himself  ; 
he  careth  not  for  himself,  Lazarus !  He  valueth 
not  his  own  safety,  nor  his  sleep,  nor  food,  nor 
rest,  nor  health,  nor  hope  of  any  human  comfort. 
He  careth  ori]y  for  his  Father,  and  for  miserable 
people !  " 

"  He  is  of  the  Father,"  said  Lazarus  solemnly. 
"  He  is  not  as  we.  This  world  and  the  ways 
thereof  do  not  tear  him  as  with  us  ;  he  is  like 
one  who  treadeth  unharmed  a  cage  of  wild 
beasts.  I  am  not  worthy  to  unloose  the  latchet 
of  his  sandals,  O  my  sister  !  " 

Lazarus  bowed  himself  unto  the  ground,  and 
drew  his  breath  with  the  resurgent  motion  of  a 
man  who  would  weep  were  he  not  a  man.  Mary 
looked  on  with  awe  and  perplexity.  She  knew 
not  how  to  comfort  a  distress  which  she  knew 
not  how  to  try  to  understand.  Sweet,  serene, 
distant,  untouched  by  passion,  she  came  no 
nearer  to  Lazarus  at  that  moment  than  a  pure, 
cold  star. 

"  I  must  see  him,"  said  Lazarus,  abruptly  con 
trolling  himself.  "  I  have  need  of  him.  I  must 
suffer  no  longer  time  to  elapse.  It  is  the  days 
of  many  weeks  since  I  have  looked  upon  his 
face.  It  dimmeth  before  my  heart ;  yet,  as  the 
Lord  heareth  me,  my  heart  doth  cling  to  him  ! 
I  must  make  it  my  business,  if  it  be  not  my 
chance,  —  I  must  see  the  Nazarene." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  morning  rose  like  a  princess.  The  sun 
was  resplendent.  The  trumpet  -  call  to  early 
prayer  rang  through  the  bright  air  with  a  long, 
quivering  cry.  Lazarus,  at  the  summons,  stood 
at  his  window,  —  at  the  window  looking  towards 
Jerusalem,  as  the  custom  demanded,  —  and 
bowed  his  face  in  silent  petition.  His  soul  was 
lifted ;  his  nerve  was  calmed  ;  the  fever  of  last 
night,  —  where  was  it  ?  Laid  by  the  cool,  pure 
morning  breath  ?  Or  healed  by  the  diviner  art 
that  comes  of  holy  thought?  Lazarus  felt  like 
a  convalescent ;  he  wondered  at  yesterday's  at 
tack  of  feeling  ;  he  thought  of  the  daughter  of 
Annas  with  a  curious  sense  of  humiliation  ;  she 
seemed  to  elude  him  as  a  dream  when  one 
awaketh ;  he  reproached  himself  that  his 'emo 
tion  had  pursued  her.  As  he  stood  at  prayer 
he  had  the  heart  of  a  penitent. 

At  the  morning  meal  his  sister  served  him 

o 

more  silently  than  usual :  perhaps  this  was  the 
reflection  of  his  own  mood  ;  or  perhaps  the  sooth 
ing  influence  of  the  guest  of  yesterday  lingered 
yet  upon  the  household.  Even  Martha  was 


COME  FORTH.  69 

subdued,  Her  face  wore  its  best  look.  And 
Lazarus  had  said  :  — 

"  Forgive  me,  Martha,"  when  he  came  forth 
in  the  morning. 

Now  Martha  was  so  used  to  being  the  one  to 
be  forgiven  that  the  reversal  of  position  gave 
her  satisfaction.  It  put  her  in  excellent  humor 
when  another  member  of  the  family  fretted,  and 
had  to  acknowledge  it. 

Lazarus  parted  from  his  sisters  pleasantly, 
and  went  to  his  work  with  a  quiet,  thoughtful 
mien. 

"  I  shall  arrange  it  soon,"  he  had  said  to 
Mary.  "  I  shall  make  it  my  duty  to  search  for 
him  in  Jerusalem  until  I  find  him." 

Lazarus  fully  intended  to  do  so.  He  made 
his  way  to  the  palace  with  a  brisk  step. 

At  the  palace  the  workmen  were  already  astir. 
Fine  carving  upon  the  renewed  cedar  pillars  was 
the  order  of  the  day ;  it  required  the  closest  su 
pervision  ;  Lazarus  surrendered  himself  to  the 
work.  He  had  an  artist's  nature,  rudely  culti 
vated  as  it  was,  and  crudely  expressed  in  such 
limited  ways  as  his  avocation  permitted.  He 
directed  with  conscience  and  enthusiasm  the 
carving  of  a  pattern  of  vines  and  pomegranates, 
from  which  all  outline  of  the  human  or  ani 
mal  figure  was  religiously  excluded  ;  a  bas-relief 
of  little  pillars  supporting  a  miniature  portico 


70  COME  FORTH. 

peered  between  the  vines.  Lazarus  became 
closely  interested  in  the  execution  of  this  de 
sign.  His  day's  work  set  in  prosperously.  The 
entrances  to  the  women's  portion  of  the  palace 
were  carefully  curtained.  No  one  but  officers 
of  the  household  appeared. 

"  Annas  the  High  priest  is  gratified  with  the 
handiwork  of  Lazarus  the  builder,"  said  one  of 
these  men,  with  a  pompous  graciousness.  Laz 
arus  bowed. 

"  This  is  as  it  should  be,"  he  replied,  with  a 
slight  hauteur.  He  returned  to  his  task  with 

O 

renewed  absorption.  Not  well  pleased,  as  the 
day  wore  on,  with  the  execution  of  certain  de 
tails,  the  master-builder  rebuked  his  artists  with 
some  emphasis.  One  of  them,  restless  under 
the  criticism,  threw  down  his  burin,  and  irrita 
bly  said :  — 

"  If  I  cannot  please  thee,  I  will  try  no  longer. 
Finish  the  work  thyself,  Lazarus." 

"  Nay,  then,  I  will ! "  cried  Lazarus,  and 
forthwith  did  proceed  to  make  good  his  word. 

Now,  as  he  worked  in  this  impulsive  manner, 
carving  after  the  imagination  of  his  own  heart 
upon  the  cedar  pillar,  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  manner  of  thought  his  hand  executed, 
Lazarus  let  his  soul  free :  it  took  wings,  and 
fled  from  him,  and  bore  him  whithersoever  he 
would  not.  It  was  high,  hot  noon.  His  artists 


COME  FORTH.  71 

and  workmen  had  betaken  themselves  without 
the  palace,  for  resting-space  and  a  meal.  The 
palace  was  quiet.  Lazarus,  adream  before  the 
pillar,  stood  alone,  carving  assiduously.  Sud 
denly  his  hand  fell  like  the  hand  of  palsy  at  his 
side.  Through  the  stillness  of  [the  warm,  soft 
air,  a  low  laugh  rang  like  a  muffled  bell.  The 
tool  dropped  from  the  hand  of  Lazarus.  The 
blood  rushed  to  his  face. 

"  Zahara !  "  he  murmured. 

She  stood  indeed  behind  him,  —  a  blazing, 
scowling  beauty ;  her  eyes  mocked  him  ;  her  full 
lips  pouted ;  with  one  hand  she  pointed  to  the 
carving  on  the  pillar. 

"  Verily,  for  a  devout  Jew,  thou  hast  done  a 
fine  deed,  sir  builder." 

Done?  What  had  he  done?  Behind  the 
carven  vines,  behind  the  trellised  portico,  be 
hind  the  miniature  pillars  of  the  designs,  the 
cedar  wood  gave  the  faint  outline  of  a  figure,  a 
girl's  figure,  hiding  modestly,  with  flowing  robes 
between  the  leaves. 

"  The  Sanhedrim  would  be  ill  pleased,"  teased 
Zahara.  "  What  an  ecclesiastical  crime  thou 
hast  committed !  " 

"Is  it  a  crime  in  thine  eyes?"  demanded  the 
builder  hotly.  His  own  regarded  her  manfully. 
His  urgent  tenderness  looked  out  of  them.  A 
wave  of  daring  love  rolled  over  him.  He  would 


72  COME   FORTH. 

be  as  he  was !  He  felt  a  sudden,  sacred  right  to 
the  impetuosity  of  his  own  nature. 

Zahara  returned  his  ardent  gaze  with  a 
queenly  look ;  then  —  for  she  could  not  help  it 
—  her  own  eyes  drooped  before  his,  less  like  a 
queen  than  like  a  woman,  and  more  like  a  sensi 
tive  girl  than  either. 

"  Nay,  then,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  wrote  not  the 
Law,  but  Moses.  Thou  hast  broken  no  stone 
table  of  mine." 

"I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Lazarus  impul 
sively.  "  I  cannot  forget  thee.  Thou  art  in 
the  thought  of  my  heart  and  the  dream  of  my 
mind,  and  thou  controllest  the  deed  of  my  hand, 
as  the  wind  controlleth  a  boat  upon  the  sea." 

"My  father,"  observed  Zahara  demurely, 
"might  not  find  the  carving  agreeable."  She 
had  veiled  herself  as  she  spoke,  and  stood  shel 
tered,  a  lovely,  swaying  figure,  half  retreating  as 
she  spoke. 

"Thou  warnest  me  wisely,"  said  Lazarus. 
"  Annas  the  High  priest  shall  not  be  disturbed 
by  the  weakness  of  a  moment  in  Lazarus  the 
builder.  The  carving  shall  be  righted  accord 
ing  to  the  letter  of  the  Law.  Fear  not,  Zahara. 
I  have  done  no  error  past  a  remedy." 

As  he  spoke,  he  smote  the  figure  with  a  pas 
sionate  gesture.  The  cedar  wood  gave  out  a 
rich  perfume  like  the  protest  of  a  creature 
wounded. 


COME   FORTH.  73 

"  Ah  me ! "  cried  Zahara,  wincing  prettily. 
"  Thou  hast  hurt  the  poor  girl !  " 

The  face  of  Lazarus  became  very  pale.  Za 
hara  could  not  know  the  emotion  she  aroused 
by  her  little  feminine  play.  If  she  had  known, 
would  she  have  spared  him  ?  Lazarus  thought 
not.  His  manhood  roused  itself  to  sudden  self- 
defense.  His  eyes  gave  Zahara  one  blinding 
look.  But  his  lips  remained  obstinately  mute. 
With  quick,  strong,  experienced  strokes,  he 
struck  the  graven  image  from  the  pillar,  and 
covered  with  thick  foliage  the  spot  where  the 
outline  of  the  hiding  girl  had  stood.  As  he 
worked,  he  did  not  even  look  around  to  see  if 
Zahara  were  still  there.  He  believed  she  would 
stay.  And  stay  she  did. 

"Behold,"  he  said  at  last,  turning,  "she  is 
gone.  She  is  blotted  from  existence.  The  law 
condemneth  me  not  if  I  kill  what  I  have  created. 
Does  that  please  thee,  Zahara  ?  " 

"  It  concerneth  me  not,"  said  Zahara,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Thou  needest  not  to  remind  me  of  that," 
urged  Lazarus.  "  Too  well  I  know  the  truth. 
Too  sad  a  truth  it  is." 

"  But,"  suggested  Zahara  timidly,  "  if  I  were 
that  girl,  —  that  carved  girl,  —  I  do  not  think  it 
would  please  me  to  be  killed  and  forgotten  so 
SOOTI,  sir  builder." 


74  COME  FORTH. 

"  Zahara  ! "  cried  Lazarus,  in  a  voice  of 
rapture. 

"Zahara?  Zahara?"  called  one  of  her  women 
from  within. 

Zahara  made  a  quick  movement  with  both  of 
her  fine  hands  :  it  was  a  gesture  of  entreaty ;  it 
was  a  gesture  of  dismissal ;  it  was  a  willful,  ten 
der,  capricious  untranslatable  action.  Lazarus 
stood  gazing  steadfastly  after  her.  But  Zahara 
had  gone. 

That  evening,  before  the  workmen  departed, 
the  stiff  rustling  of  the  priestly  robe  announced 
to  the  builder,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
begun  his  work,  the  presence  of  Annas.  The 
artists  and  carpenters  bowed  with  reverence  be 
fore  the  High  priest.  Lazarus  saluted  him  re 
spectfully. 

"  I  come  to  observe  your  repairs,"  remarked 
Annas.  "  They  have  given  me  satisfaction  hith 
erto.  It  is  a  workmanlike  undertaking,  honestly 
executed  and  well  conceived." 

Lazarus  silently  bowed. 

"You  will  not  find  it  too  long  a  task,  I 
infer?"  inquired  the  High  priest  politely. 

"  Not  beyond  a  week  further,"  quickly  re 
plied  Lazarus.  As  he  spoke  the  words  he  felt  a 
sick  sinking  at  the  heart,  never  known  before  to 
the  sensation  of  his  peaceful  and  uneventful  life. 
A  week  ?  Only  a  week  ?  Then  was  Zahara  no 


COME  FORTH.  75 

more  liable  to  cross  the  orbit  of  his  life  than 
Annas  the  High  priest  to  invite  him  to  supper. 

"  Of  course  I  wish  the  work  thoroughly  fin 
ished,"  continued  Annas  with  a  keen  look,  "even 
at  the  cost  of  a  few  extra  denarii,  if  need  were. 
It  is  too  good  a  matter  not  to  be  a  perfect  one." 

"  I  need  no  more  time,"  replied  Lazarus 
slowly.  A  struggle  set  in  upon  his  nature. 
How  easy  to  prolong  the  period  of  service  at 
the  palace,  —  the  period  of  delight  and  denial 
within  the  blessed  possibility  of  her  presence 
who  was  becoming  to  him,  he  felt  at  that  mo 
ment,  incredibly,  unbearably  dear !  The  longing 
of  the  lover  battled  with  the  conscience  of  the 
artisan.  Lazarus  felt  that  he  never  knew  be 
fore  the  meaning  of  a  sense  of  honor. 

"No,"  he  repeated  firmly.  "No,  the  work 
can  be  done  within  the  period  agreed.  Why 
should  I  intrude  upon  your  courtesy  ?  " 

"  You  are  an  honorable  person,"  observed  the 
High  priest  graciously. 

"  I  have  enjoyed  the  work,"  conceded  Laza 
rus.  "  It  would  have  been  agreeable  to  me  had 
the  palace  required  my  service  further.  It  does 
not." 

"  At  some  future  day  it  may  do  so,"  continued 
Annas  urbanely.  Lazarus  felt  his  lip  tremble 
and  his  color  change.  He  bent  over  a  tool  and 
tried  its  edge  upon  his  finger. 


76  COME  FORTH. 

"  Your  politeness  is  beyond  my  deserts,"  he 
replied,  with  Oriental  suavity.  A  t  that  moment 
he  felt  an  emotion  perfectly  new  to  him  :  a  sense 
of  kindliness  to  the  old  man  replaced  his  in 
stinctive  antagonism  ;  the  father  of  Zahara  be 
came  interesting  to  him. 

"You  have  wounded  your  finger  upon  the 
tool,"  observed  Annas. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Lazarus,  binding  the 
cut  with  embarrassment. 

"  What,  I  pray,  is  your  design  at  this  point?  " 
inquired  Annas,  critically  observing  the  carving 
of  the  pillar.  He  placed  his  priestly  finger  upon 
the  spot  where  the  little  "  graven  image "  of 
Zahara  had  been  changed  (like  a  heathen 
dryad)  into  a  waving  tree. 

"The  foliage  appears  to  me  thick  in  this 
spot,"  continued  Annas.  "  Is  it  a  Greek  im 
agination?" 

"  It  is  my  own  design,"  said  Lazarus,  with 
heightened  color.  Annas  gave  the  builder  a 
searching  look,  —  who  could  have  said  why  ? 
Certainly  for  no  suspicion  of  the  truth  that 
could  by  possibility  have  been  apparent  to  the 
High  priest.  Both  men  felt  uncomfortable. 

"  You  are  a  Pharisee,  I  understand,"  said 
Annas,  abruptly  changing  the  subject. 

"  Such  is  my  ecclesiastical  position,"  returned 
Lazarus,  with  dignity. 


COME  FORTH.  77 

"  Know  you  aught  of  these  popular  disturb 
ances,  these  religious  riots,  of  the  people  ?  You 
seem  to  be  a  man  of  intelligence,  in  some  re 
spects  above  your  situation  in  life.  Have  you 
familiarity  with  these  pretenders,  —  these  false 
prophets  and  idols  of  the  populace,  who  lead 
them  astray,  like  sheep  shepherded  by  wolves  ?  " 

"I  know  none  such,"  answered  Lazarus 
proudly. 

"  There  is  one,  —  he  calleth  himself  the 
Prophesied ;  he  nameth  the  sacred  name  of  the 
Messiah  ;  he  teacheth  as  a  Rabbi,  and  assumeth 
to  perform  the  miraculous,  bewitching  the  peo 
ple  vainly.  Know  you  this  man  ?  " 

"  I  know  none  such,"  repeated  Lazarus  firmly. 

"  I  refer,"  said  the  High  priest,  "  to  the  Naz- 
arene.  Know  you  the  man  ?  " 

"Intimately,"  said  Lazarus,  without  a  mo 
ment's  hesitation.  "  I  both  know  and  do  re 
vere  him." 

"  Surely,"  said  the  High  priest  with  severity, 
"  you  put  no  trust  in  his  preposterous  claim  ?  " 

At  this  moment  a  light  flashed  before  the 
face  of  Lazarus,  and  a  faint  perfume  of  attar  of 
roses  filled  the  hot  air.  Zahara,  robed  in  silver- 
wrought  white,  veiled  in  pale  purple  gauze, 
floated  up  to  her  father  and  laid  her  small  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  Go  thou  within,  my  child,"  said  the  priest, 


78  COME  FORTH. 

with  a  caressing  frown.  "I  do  discourse  with 
the  builder." 

"  Let  me  stay,"  pleaded  Zahara.  "  I  will  not 
interrupt  thee.  I  but  pass  across  the  court  to 
give  an  order  to  iny  women.  Let  me  stay  a 
moment,  father." 

Her  brilliant  eyes,  moving  above  her  veil  like 
suns  above  a  cloud,  turned  slowly  toward  the 
builder.  In  them  not  a  scintilla  of  recognition 
burned.  Zahara  leaned  nonchalantly  against 
her  father's  arm.  She  was  the  portrait  of  in 
difference.  Lazarus  returned  her  glance  with 
deferent  distance.  His  heart  leaped  within  him 
that  she  gave  herself  this  little  play  before  her 
father :  she  cherished  a  pretty  secret  between 
them,  —  she,  Zahara !  He  set  his  teeth  with 
the  struggle  of  concealment,  and  covered  his 
ardent  eyes  with  a  soft  film  of  remoteness.  He 
drew  himself  together  manfully,  and  took  up 
the  conversation  where  Zahara  had  snapped  it. 

"  Concerning  the  Nazarene  "  —  he  began. 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Zahara  disdainfully,  "  the 
Nazarene  !  " 

Lazarus  ceased  abruptly.  His  sensitive  color 
left  him. 

"  Continue,"  ordered  the  High  priest.  "  Are 
you,  then,  one  of  his  rabble,  —  one  of  his  peo 
ple?" 

Zahara  regarded  Lazarus  now  quite  steadily  ; 


COME  FORTH.  79 

her  beautiful  eyes  expressed  astonishment  and 
displeasure.  Lazarus  hesitated  for  a  perceptible 
instant.  Then  he  answered  distinctly :  "  I  see 
no  reason  why  I  should  deny  that  I  number 
myself  among  those  who  do  follow  the  doctrine 
of  Jesus  the  Nazarene." 

A  well-bred  silence  filled  the  court  of  the  pal 
ace  at  this  announcement. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  High  priest  coldly, 
"  I  would  fain  caution  you  against  this  person. 
He  is  a  dangerous  fellow." 

Zahara  said  nothing.  She  swept  upon  Laza 
rus  one  eloquent  look :  it  seemed  to  him  to  ex 
press  command,  reproach,  regret,  and  something 
else  besides,  —  was  it  entreaty  ?  On  the  motion 
of  this  look  she  stirred,  turned,  and  floated 
across  the  court.  One  of  her  women,  a  pet 
slave,  a  young  girl,  came  to  her  and  put  an  arm 
about  her  with  pretty,  feminine  familiarity. 

"  Ah,  then,  Rebecca  !  "  cried  Zahara.  Laza 
rus  could  have  hurled  Rebecca  over  the  palace 
wall. 

"  Continue  your  work,"  commanded  Annas, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  expression.  "  I  inter 
rupt  you  no  longer." 

The  two  men  exchanged  cold  salutations. 
The  High  priest  walked  away  in  his  stateliest 
attitude.  The  builder  bowed  his  head  over  the 
pillar  where  the  little  graven  image  had  been 
carved  out  of  existence. 


80  COME  FORTH. 

The  next  day  one  of  the  officers  of  the  palace 
remained  on  duty  within  the  portico.  The  man 
yawned  and  fidgeted ;  he  had  plainly  nothing  to 
do.  The  High  priest  did  not  reappear.  Zahara's 
curtains  were  closely  drawn.  Once  Lazarus 
heard,  or  fancied  that  he  heard,  her  laugh  and 
call:- 

"Kebecca!" 

But  he  had  only  his  fancy  for  his  content. 

"  It  is  a  dull  day,"  said  the  officer,  sullenly. 
"  What  have  you  done,  sir  builder,  that  I  should 
be  stationed  in  this  stupid  post  all  day  ?  "  Laza 
rus  lifted  his  head  and  stared  at  the  fellow. 

"Verily,"  said  the  officer,  "I  believe  you 
know  not  any  more  than  I  do.  It  must  be  some 
whim  of  the  High  priest.  He  aboundeth  in 
them.  I  shall  make  known  to  him  that  you  are 
quite  innocent  of  it  at  all  events." 

"  Innocent  of  what  ?  "  cried  Lazarus. 

The  officer  gave  a  short,  sharp  laugh.  Per 
haps  unconsciously,  perhaps  intentionally,  his 
conspicuous  head-dress  inclined  by  an  almost 
imperceptible  motion  toward  the  women's  por 
tion  of  the  palace. 

Lazarus  worked  on  in  silence.  His  heart  was 
sore  within  him.  He  felt  humiliated  to  no  end, 
and  angered  for  no  cause,  and  disturbed  without 
hope  of  restoration. 

"  I   am   become  a   miserable  man,"   thought 


COME  FORTH.  81 

Lazarus.  "  Would  to  God  that  I  had  never 
struck  a  nail  into  the  palace  of  the  High  priest ! 
Would  to  God  that  I  had  never  seen  "  — 

But  he  could  not,  or  he  did  not,  finish  the  sen 
tence.  Better  to  have  seen  her,  —  oh,  better  to 
have  seen  Zahara  by  a  hundred-fold  of  what  she 
cost  him !  Lazarus  could  not  imagine  himself 
now  without  having  seen  Zahara. 

"  We  have  but  six  days'  work  upon  the  pal 
ace  left,"  said  one  of  the  artists,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Six  days  ?  "  cried  Lazarus.  "  Yes,  you  are 
right ;  it  is  but  six  days." 

"  It  might  even  be  completed  in  five,"  sug 
gested  an  industrious  workman,  "  if  these  fellows 
were  not  so  insufferably  lazy." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  Lazarus,  standing  back  to 
survey  the  repairs,  "  you  are  correct.  It  might 
—  it  may  —  be  done  in  five." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MALACHI  the  Pharisee  came  home  in  a  rage, 
Something  had  gone  wrong  in  Jerusalem,  and 
sorely  displeased  a  man  not  accustomed  to  con 
ceal  his  displeasure.  Hagaar,  his  wife,  and 
Ariella,  his  daughter,  perceived  at  first  glance 
that  the  domestic  prospect  was  stormy,  and 
made  ready  to  weather  it,  each  in  her  own  way. 
Hagaar  armed  her  tongue,  but  Ariella  shrank 
upon  her  bed  and  held  her  peace. 

Malachi's  anger  was  of  the  most  vicious  kind, 
—  the  ecclesiastical.  He  had  come  straight  from 
a  service  at  the  Carpenter's  Synagogue,  where 
a  tumultuous  scene  had  taken  place.  Malachi 
related  the  circumstances  to  his  family  with 
boiling  anger.  The  women  could  not  remember 
.when  they  had  seen  the  head  of  their  house  in 
such  a  fury. 

"I  have  been  insulted  !  "  cried  Malachi,  —  "  I 
and  my  house,  and  the  sect  which  we  do  honor 
by  our  adherence.  We  have  been  insulted  past 
forgiveness,  and  I,  for  my  part,  will  never  for 
give  the  man  !  Let  him  look  to  it !  " 

"  It  is  shocking,"  said  Hagaar.  "  But  I  could 
be  angrier  if  I  knew  for  what  cause." 


COME  FORTH.  83 

"  A  woman  knows  enough,"  retorted  Malachi, 
"  when  she  is  told  that  her  husband  has  received 
an  affront.  It  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  she 
should  comprehend  the  matter,  to  be  angered  in 
his  behalf,  as  becometh  a  wife." 

"  But  I  could  be  so  much  more  angry,"  per 
sisted  Hagaar,  "  if  I  understood  why." 

Thus  entreated,  Malachi  sat  down  very  hard 
upon  the  nearest  rug,  crossed  his  big  feet  be 
neath  him,  and  resentfully  narrated  in  his  own 
way  the  following  story,  which  we  may  translate 
in  ours. 

It  seemed  that  he  had  been  upon  his  way  to 
the  synagogue  to  hear  the  new  Rabbi  discourse, 
when  the  call  struck  to  evening  prayer.  Mal 
achi,  being  a  religious  braggart,  and  fond  of 
advertising  his  pious  superiority  to  more  modest 
or  more  reverent  men,  stopped  short  where  he 
was,  and  pompously  began  to  pray  aloud  in  the 
street.  Now,  he  stood  upon  one  of  Jerusalem's 
highways,  known  as  the  Street  of  the  Gold 
smiths,  a  busy,  bustling  place,  where  his  devo 
tions  were  sure  to  be  seen  of  all  men.  Malachi, 
a  coarse,  self-important  figure,  blustering  under 
his  broad  phylactery,  lifted  up  his  swarthy  hands 
to  heaven,  and  besought  the  divine  aid  as  a  man 
might  hail  a  water-carrier,  or  summon  a  litter 
upon  the  highway.  As  he  stood  in  this  prepos 
terous  position,  praying  aloud  sonorously,  and 


84  COME  FORTH. 

eyed  by  the  crowding  people  with  distrust  or 
disfavor,  a  piercing  glance  fell  upon  him.  Mal- 
achi  felt  as  he  would  beneath  a  burning-glass. 
His  soul  shrank  under  the  look,  but  he  would 
not  look  up  to  see  whence  it  came,  only  prayed 
on  the  more  defiantly. 

At  this  moment  an  elderly  woman  of  his  ac 
quaintance  humbly  attracted  his  attention.  The 
poor  creature  was  feeble,  and  looked  half  starved. 
She  pushed  her  way  among  the  people,  and  knelt 
before  the  big  Pharisee,  touching  the  hem  of  his 
robe  with  her  aged  hand. 

"The  rent!"  she  wailed,  "the  rent!  I  beg 
for  mercy  from  the  payment  of  my  rent.  Thy 
collector  has  referred  me  to  thyself.  I  have 
naught  wherewith  to  pay,  and  I  crave  grace  for 
the  rent  till  I  may  find  the  means  of  labor 
whereby  to  earn  the  sum.  No  man  desires  the 
service  of  so  old  a  woman.  I  have  no  money, 
and  my  husband  and  my  son  are  dead  before 
me.  I  pray  for  mercy  from  thee,  as  thou  prayest 
mercy  from  Jehovah.  Remit  my  rent !  Remit 
my  rent  in  the  holy  name  of  prayer !  ' 

"  Woman  ! "  said  Malachi  coldly,  "  see  you  not 
that  you  interrupt  my  devotions?  Settle  the 
matter  with  my  collector.  Depart,  and  leave 
me  with  my  God." 

The  crowd  raised  a  jeering  laugh ;  the  old 
woman  bowed  herself  together,  and  shrank 


COME  FORTH.  85 

away.  Malachi  closed  his  eyes  and  prayed  on 
vociferously. 

When  he  opened  them,  he  perceived  quite 
near  him  the  stately  form  of  the  Eabbi,  climbing 
the  hill  to  the  synagogue.  The  Nazarene  did 
not  look  at  the  Pharisee  again;  he  walked  on 
silently ;  but  his  very  step  seemed  to  express  a 
strong  scorn ;  his  white  mantle  blew  backward 
in  the  wind,  revealing  the  outline  of  his  long 
lirnbs,  the  muscular  limbs  of  a  daily  walker ; 
his  face  was  invisible ;  his  hand  fell  closely  shut 
together  at  his  side,  —  clenched,  we  might  say 
of  another  man's  hand ;  that  did  not  seem  the 
word  to  apply  to  his,  whose  every  gesture  indi 
cated  a  self-restraint  too  great  to  be  visible  in 
excessive  expression. 

Malachi  was  dull  enough ;  but  he  stopped 
praying  aloud  ;  he  felt  that  he  had  said  enough. 
He  watched  the  Nazarene  uncomfortably,  till  the 
silent  figure  had  mounted  the  hill  and  disap 
peared  within  the  synagogue.  Malachi  lingered 
a  moment  to  recover  his  composure,  and  then  en 
tered,  and  passed  pompously  to  his  accustomed 
and  prominent  seat. 

"  And  then,"  cried  Malachi  to  his  women,  — 
"  and  then  what  does  the  fellow  do  ?  Of  what 
does  the  Rabbi  discourse  ?  What  follows  ?  An 
attack  upon  us !  An  attack  upon  the  sect  of 
the  Pharisees!  A  violent  tirade!  A  scanda- 


86  COME  FORTH. 

lous,  outrageous,  unpardonable  insult!  Verily 
the  man  did  open  his  lips  and  curse  us  on  the 
spot!" 

"  Oh,  not  curse  you,  father!  "  pleaded  Ariella. 
"  I  cannot  think  this  Rabbi  is  a  man  to  curse. 
His  name  has  not  such  savor  among  those  who 
know  him  well." 

"  Judge  for  yourself,  then,  you  prating  fool ! " 
cried  Malachi.  "  These  words  he  said  :  '  Woe 
unto  you  !  Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Phari 
sees  ! ' " 

"  People  don't  curse  without  a  reason,"  said 
Hagaar  sharply.  "  The  preacher  must  have 
had  one  to  offer  for  such  language.  Out  with 
it,  Malachi !  Thou  dost  not  verily  tell  the  whole 
story,  —  that  I  perceive  right  well.  What  else 
did  the  Eabbi  say  ?  " 

"  Woe  unto  you!  Woe  unto  you  who  do  for 
a  pretence  devour  widows'  houses,"  exploded 
Malachi  furiously,  "  and  who  do  make  long 
prayers  in  the  streets  to  be  seen  of  men  " 

"  And  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it !  "  he  cried, 
smiting  the  knuckles  of  one  coarse  hand  into  the 
palm  of  the  other.  "  He  did  heap  insult  upon 
insult  in  my  presence.  '  Without,  ye  are  whited 
sepulchres,'  said  he,  4  but  within  are  dead 
metis  bones.  Within,  ye  are  all  uncleanliness? 
.  .  .  Thus  said  the  Nazarene.  A  furor  fol 
lowed.  The  synagogue  was  in  an  uproar.  I 


COME  FORTH.  87 

raised  a  cry  of  '  Catch  him !  Stay  the  fellow  ! 
Hold  him ! '  and  many  answered  to  my  command, 
and  set  upon  him.  He  escaped  us,"  added 
Malachi  savagely.  "  He  fled  from  us." 

"How  could  that  be?"  asked  Ariella  gently. 
"You  so  many,  and  he  but  one?  How  could 
he  escape  ye?" 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  Malachi  hotly.  "  It 
is  a  matter  beyond  me.  He  melted  from  us  like 
flying  fire.  When  we  clutched  him,  he  was 
gone,  —  when  we  hindered  him,  he  vanished. 
He  ceased.  He  was  not.  It  is  a  trick  he  has." 

"  It  is  clever  in  him,  at  all  events,"  observed 
Hagaar,  none  too  soothingly. 

"  Silence,  woman !  "  cried  her  furious  lord, 
"  and  learn  thou  more  wifely  manners.  From 
this  hour  I  and  my  household  do  abjure  the 
Nazarene.  See  to  it,  Hagaar!  See  to  it, 
Ariella !  Follow  him  not.  Receive  him  not. 
Put  the  width  of  his  insult  and  my  displeasure 
between  Jesus  of  Nazareth  and  the  house  of 
Malachi  the  Pharisee,  and  bridge  it  not,  from 
this  time  forth,  forever !  " 

"  Why,  I  am  sure  I  have  no  objections,"  said 
Hagaar.  "/  care  nothing  for  the  Rabbi.  And 
I  am  sure  it  is  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  one  to 
get  up  early  and  go  into  Jerusalem  to  hear  a 
preacher  who  is  n't  there." 

But  Ariella  said  nothing.,    She  sighed  sadly. 


88  COME  FORTH. 

Only  yesterday  Baruch  had  sent  her  word  by 
Rachel,  his  mother,  that  he  was  about  to  go  into 
Jerusalem,  attended  by  a  neighbor's  lad,  to 
plead  with  Jesus  the  Healer  in  behalf  of  his  sick 
neighbor. 

It  was  not  long  after  this,  perhaps  not  a  mat 
ter  of  two  days,  that  Ariella  received  through 
her  mother  the  announcement  of  the  presence  of 
Baruch. 

"He  waits  without,"  said  Hagaar  carelessly, 
"  and  seems  more  anxious  than  usual  to  see  you. 
He  may  as  well  come  into  the  court.  It  is 
nobody  but  blind  Baruch."  Ariella  assented 
cordially.  It  was  some  time  since  she  had  seen 
Baruch.  They  had  exchanged  no  words  to 
gether  undisturbed  by  others  since  that  pleasant 
morning  on  which  the  family  had  journeyed  to 
Jerusalem,  to  hear  the  Rabbi  whose  manly  and 
fearless  attack  upon  the  unworthy  element  of 
his  sect  had  but  now  so  enraged  Malachi. 

Ushered  by  Hagaar,  Baruch  came  into  the 
court,  and  seated  himself  upon  the  low  ottoman 
placed  for  visitors  beside  the  couch  of  Ariella. 

He  and  Ariella  exchanged  salutations  quietly  ; 
but  Ariella  perceived  at  once  that  Baruch  was 
keenly  excited  upon  some  matter  of  which  it  did 
not  suit  him  to  chatter,  and  which  he  was  not 
even  willing  to  introduce  hastily.  The  mother 
of  Ariella  sat  beside  these  two  afflicted  young 


COME  FORTH.  89 

people  for  a  while,  gossiping  of  neighborhood 
trifles.  Ariella  observed  with  surprise  that 
Hagaar  did  not  repeat  to  their  visitor  the  inci 
dent  in  the  synagogue  so  vociferously  related  by 
Malachi.  The  simplest  of  women  grow  shrewd 
at  the  most  unexpected  crises.  Hagaar  may 
have  felt  in  the  rising  storm  of  public  feeling 
which  was  beginning  to  mutter  through  Judea, 
and  of  which  the  Nazarene  was  the  pathetic 
object,  a  certain  restraint  or  warning;  if  this 
did  not  take  in  Hagaar's  mind  the  character  of 
a  religious  or  political  claim,  at  least  it  pre 
sented  itself  to  her  as  a  motive  why  a  woman 
should  hold  her  tongue,  and  not  anger  a  prom 
inent  husband.  Hagaar  departed  presently 
upon  domestic  errands  of  superior  interest  to 
these  ecclesiastical  and  masculine  conflicts ;  and, 
passing  in  and  out  of  the  court,  as  the  occasion 
took  her,  left  the  young  people  a  little  time  to 
themselves.  Baruch  took  advantage  of  this  fact 
to  say :  — 

"  Ariella,  I  have  seen  him.  I  have  spoken 
with  him." 

"  And  of  what  didst  thou  speak  ? "  asked 
Ariella. 

"  Canst  thou  ask  me  ?     Of  thyself,  Ariella." 

"  Thou  takest  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  sighed 
Ariella  thoughtfully,  "  for  me." 

The  fine  countenance  of  the  blind  man  turned 


90  COME  FORTH. 

toward  her  as  if  he  saw  her ;  he  did  not  imme 
diately  speak,  yet  the  silence  said  more  than  all 
the  words  in  the  Law.  The  sick  girl  delicately 
blushed,  as  if  a  little  ashamed  of  herself,  —  as  if 
she  had  parried  or  played  with  a  man  who  was 
above  the  slightest  evasion  of  lip,  as  perhaps  she 
had.  It  is  a  weakness  into  which  invalids  fall 
sometimes,  from  excessive  effort  to  appear  mod 
est  or  unselfish. 

'"  Take  it,  then,  Baruch,"  she  murmured 
humbly.  "  Take  it,  and  God  bless  thee  for  it, 
and  make  me  worthy  of  it !  What  didst  thou 
say  of  me  and  my  poor  life  to  the  Nazarene? 
And  how  found'st  thou  him?  What  happened? 
How  seemed  he  to  thee?  What  manner  of  man 
is  he?" 

"  Like  unto  no  other,"  answered  Baruch  sol 
emnly  —  "  like  unto  no  other  man  who  treadeth 
the  earth.  He  hath  the  touch  of  a  spirit,  and 
the  voice  of  one  of  the  Sons  of  God." 

"  Did  he  touch  thee  ?  "  asked  Ariella,  with 
increasing  reverence. 

"For  a  moment  he  did.  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  sleeve  of  my  robe.  Verily,  I  did  feel 
the  pressure  of  his  finger-tip  upon  the  garment's 
edge,  like  the  grasp  of  a  Power,  as  if  an  angel 
had  uplifted  me.  I  bowed  myself  before  him, 
and  hid  my  face,  and  poured  my  soul  out  to  him 
in  thy  behalf.  He  was  walking  in  a  dusty 


COME  FORTH.  91 

street,  among  a  press  of  people.  The  throng 
was  great.  They  urged  me,  and  trampled  on 
me,  and  he  did  rebuke  them  in  a  voice  the  like 
unto  which  I  have  not  heard,  for  the  music  of 
it,  and  the  authority.  '  Stand  back,'  he  cried, 
'stand  ye  back,  and  give  room  to  affliction, 
which  is  more  sacred  than  health.'  Then  they 
did  stand  back  and  gave  space  to  me,  and  I  did 
speak  with  him  apart." 

"  Would  that  I  could  have  heard  thee  !  "  fer 
vently  said  Ariella. 

"  Would  that  thou  couldst  hear  Mm  !  "  cried 
Baruch.  "And  that  thou  shalt !  That  thou 
shalt !  He  will  come  to  thee.  He  will  come 
to  Bethany  and  heal  thee,  Ariella.  So  said 
he  unto  me." 

Ariella  turned  very  pale,  and  sank  back  upon 
her  pillows.  For  some  moments  she  did  not 
speak  to  Baruch,  whom  at  length,  with  slow 
self-restraint,  she  answered  :  — 

"  Didst  thou  ask  that  of  him  —  to  journey 
hither  —  for  a  stranger,  a  poor  sick  girl  whom 
nobody  knows  ?  How  darest  thou,  Baruch  ?  " 

"  For  thy  sake,  Ariella,"  said  Baruch  quietly, 
"  I  would  dare  ask  Jehovah  himself." 

"  But  he  cannot  heal  me ! "  murmured  Ari 
ella. 

"  While  I  did  plead  thy  case  with  him,"  said 
Baruch  quietly,  "  there  came  unto  us  a  slave, 


92  COME   FORTH. 

formerly  from  the  palace  of  Herod.  He  had 
been  set  by  the  king  to  wait  upon  an  officer  of 
his  guard,  an  evil  fellow,  who  had  turned  lep 
rous,  and  was  put  without  the  gates.  The  dis 
ease  turned  upon  the  slave,  and  did  befoul  him, 
and  make  him  abhorred  of  God  and  men.  Men 
said  so  sore  a  sight  had  not  been  seen  in  Jerusa 
lem  for  years.  The  lad  who  guided  me  would 
have  snatched  me  away ;  but  I  remained,  for  I 
feared  naught,  and  I  heard  the  outcast  cry, 
'  Unclean !  unclean  ! '  and  aught  sadder  than  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  the  ear  of  a  blind  man  never 
heard.  Yerily,  it  made  my  soul  sick  within  me. 
.  .  .  Ariella  !  "  said  Baruch,  suddenly  changing 
his  tone  to  one  of  deep  rebuke,  "  while  I  stood 
upon  the  spot,  the  leper  was  made  whole.  And 
all  the  people  did  testify  to  the  deed,  with  ho- 
sannas  that  shook  the  earth  and  air." 

"  Incredible !  "  whispered  Ariella.  She  was 
much  moved,  and  it  needed  not  eyes  to  perceive 
this,  for  her  agitated  breath  came  panting 
through  her  patient  lips. 

"  He  will  come  to  thee,"  persisted  Baruch 
joyfully,  "  for  I  said :  4  Master,  I  have  a  dear 
friend,  a  little  woman,  who  for  many  years  doth 
not  leave  her  bed,  else  I  would  bring  her  to  thee. 
If  thou  couldst  touch  her,  she  would  arise  and 
walk.'  " 

"  What  answer  made  he  ? "  asked  Ariella 
eagerly. 


COME  FORTH.  93 

"  It  concerneth  tliee  not,"  said  Baruch  eva 
sively.  "  It  is  enough  that  he  coineth." 

"  But  I  will  have  his  answer !  " 

"  But  that  thou  shalt  not !  " 

"  Then  will  I  not  see  him.  Then  will  I  not 
be  healed  !  Then  will  I  stay  upon  my  couch 
and  be  as  I  am !  " 

"Thou  art  a  silken  tyrant,"  said  Baruch, 
smiling  indulgently.  "  Thou  doest  thine  own 
will  with  me.  Since  thou  wilt,  then,  these 
were  his  words :  '  Baruch,'  he  said,  '  Baruch, 
Blessed' '"  - 

"  How  knew  he  thy  name  ?  "  interrupted  Ari- 
ella. 

"  That  know  I  no  more  than  thyself.  No  man 
did  tell  him,  for  I  knew  no  man.  I  go  too  sel 
dom  abroad  to  be  known  in  Jerusalem.  '  Ba 
ruch,'  he  said,  '  hast  thou  naught  to  ask  me  for 
thyself  ?  '  And  I  said,  '  Lord,  I  have  naught ; ' 
and  he  did  repeat,  '  Blessed  of  God  be  thou !  ' 
and  said  no  more  to  me,  save  that  he  bade  me 
tell  thee  he  would  come  to  thee,  Ariella.  He 
cometh  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week.  .  .  . 
Thou  shalt  be  healed,  Ariella  !  Thou  shalt  arise 
and  walk !  " 

The  countenance  of  the  blind  man  expressed 
at  that  moment  a  joy  so  exquisite,  a  self-for- 
getfulness  so  supreme,  that  Ariella  quailed  be 
fore  it. 


94  COME  FORTH. 

"  Oh,  Baruch !  "  she  sobbed,  "  great  is  thy 
faith,  and  greater  is  thy  soul.  I  am  not  worthy 
to  be  called  thy  friend.  But  .  .  .  Oh,  Baruch, 
how  do  I  tell  thee  ?  Thine  errand  hath  been  all 
in  vam.  My  father  hath  been  offended  with 
this  Jesus,  and  hath  forbidden  me  to  have  deal 
ings  with  him.  The  Nazarene  may  not  so  much 
as  cross  this  threshold.  Malachi  hath  said  it." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  moaned  Baruch. 
His  disappointment  was  something  hard  to  see. 
He  hid  his  face  and  groaned. 

"  Be  comforted,"  said  Ariella  tenderly.  "  Art 
not  thou,  too,  afflicted  ?  Can  I  not  bear  my  lot 
as  thou  dost  thine  ?  God  gave  them  both." 

"  And  God  gave  this  prophet !  "  cried  Baruch, 
starting  passionately  to  his  f£et.  "  And  by  the 
faith  of  our  fathers,  he  and  thou*  shalt  meet,  in 
spite  of  men  and  devils  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  last  day's  work  at  the  palace  had  come. 
To  the  master-builder  it  seemed  like  the  last  day 
of  the  world.  He  arose  like  a  doomed  man,  and 
trod  the  familiar  path  over  the  mountain  with 
laggard  feet.  His  head  drooped.  His  eyes 
were  on  the  ground.  The  glory  of  the  dawn 
unfolded  about  him  like  a  huge  flower ;  petals 
of  rose-lipped  clouds  lapped  the  outlines  of  the 
hills,  and  turned  back  against  a  horizon  of  pure 
fire ;  now  and  then  one  broke  off  and  floated  as 
if  it  had  been  blown  away  from  a  calyx. 

Lazarus  did  not  see  the  gorgeous  spectacle. 
He  felt  it,  as  one  feels  the  blazonry  of  a  festival 
when  one  is  bitterly  bereaved.  Certain  words 
occurred  to  him  from  the  sacred  writings  of  his 
people ;  he  repeated  them  dreamily,  missing  the 
exact  quotation ;  it  was  something  about  the 
rising  sun :  "  Who  goeth  forth  as  a  bridegroom 
out  of  his  chamber  .  .  .  who  rejoiceth  as  a  man 
strong  to  run  a  race."  For  the  first  time  in  all 
his  simple,  healthy  life,  Lazarus  recoiled  from 
the  sunrise.  The  sadness  in  the  scenery  of 
Judea,  never  before  apparent  to  him,  crept  into 


96  COME  FORTH. 

his  heart.  Abroad  he  would  not  look.  With 
downcast  eyes  he  saw  the  heavy  dew  roll  from 
the  edges  to  the  tips  of  the  grass-blades  at  his 
feet;  a  white  lily  gone  astray  from  a  garden  — 
a  cultivated  Persian  lily,  not  common  to  the  re 
gion  —  nodded  over  the  path,  and,  heavy  and 
wet,  hung  languorously ;  another  lily,  wild  and 
scarlet,  grew  beside  her :  deep  in  their  cups, 
perfume  and  dew,  night  and  sleep,  and  slow 
waking,  and  the  power  of  the  stirring  sun  strug 
gled  together. 

"  It  is  a  fair  flower,"  said  Lazarus  aloud.  The 
busy  young  Jew  was  not  accustomed  to  notice 
the  flowers  ;  he  had  never  given  them  morning 
thoughts,  unless,  perhaps,  when  Mary  said  some 
times,  "  The  lilies  are  abloom,  my  brother." 

Now  he  stooped  and  gathered  those  two,  the 
lily  of  scarlet  and  the  lily  of  white.  He  could 
not  remember  when  he  had  picked  a  flower. 
These  felt  as  strange  as  the  heads  of  children 
beneath  his  touch.  He  held  them  delicately  as 
he  walked  on.  He  looked  into  their  soft  hearts. 
He  turned  them  from  one  hand  to  another  with 
care  so  as  not  to  spill  the  dew  therefrom.  He 
studied  the  flowers  with  a  perfectly  new  interest. 

"  It  is  like  a  lady,"  thought  Lazarus. 

"  This  one,"  he  said,  after  some  reflection, 
"  this  one  is  the  daughter  of  a  High  priest.  She 
liveth  in  a  palace."  . 


COME  FORTH.  97 

He  held  the  scarlet  lily  above  the  level  of  his 
eyes,  suddenly  lifted  them,  threw  his  head  back 
with  that  pleasant  motion  peculiar  to  Lazarus, 
and  looked  at  the  flower. 

"  This  one,  this  is  Zahara." 

His  face  turned  fervent  and  pale ;  he  drew 
the  flower  down  to  his  lips  and  ardently  drank 
the  dew  from  its  blazing  heart.  Then  he  stood 
for  a  moment,  uncertain,  dissatisfied.  He  turned 
the  white  lily  about  in  his  hesitating  hand. 

" 1  am  wrong,"  said  Lazarus,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  It  must  be  this  is  Zahara." 

Reverently  and  slowly  he  touched  the  white 
flower  to  his  lips :  her  dew  trembled  upon  them  ; 
he  tasted  it  delicately.  Then  he  put  both  lilies 
together  in  one  hand  and  held  them  there.  He 
shook  his  head  with  perplexity.  Which  was 
Zahara?  This  was  the  most  imaginative  mo 
ment  of  Lazarus'  life.  But  imagination  was  a 
strange  guest  to  him.  He  knew  not  how  to 
treat  her.  Yet  he  kept  the  lilies  and  held  them, 
and  regarded  them  with  tenderness  as  he  walked 
on  with  quivering  step  to  the  palace. 

The  sun  had  now  arisen,  and  the  full  day  was 
abroad.  Lazarus  lifted  his  head,  and  eyed  the 
world  again  like  a  man.  Sounds  of  stirring  life 
filled  the  air,  and  the  early  risers  of  Judea  were 
already  at  their  day's  toil.  The  ear  of  the 
skilled  workman  responded  to  the  throb  of  duty. 


98  COME  FORTH. 

His  eye  heightened.  He  looked  upon  the  stately 
outline  of  Jerusalem  ;  upon  the  Temple,  leaning 
like  one  of  the  Sons  of  God  against  the  fiery 
eastern  sky ;  upon  the  fair  valley,  where  the 
hum  of  business  began ;  yonder  toward  the 
bridge  of  the  great  Bazaars  owned  by  Annas 
and  Caiaphas.  The  Bazaars  themselves  were 
out  of  sight  from  the  point  where  Lazarus  stood 
upon  Mount  Olivet ;  but  their  locality  was  indi 
cated  by  a  pretty  sight. 

Flocks  of  doves  hovered  and  hung  overhead, 
swaying  in  the  bright  air.  These  were  the 
doves  fed  and  "  homed  "  at  that  place,  and  kept 
for  sale  for  the  purification-offering  of  young 
mothers.  Lazarus  looked  at  the  doves  thought 
fully.  They  quivered  in  the  distance  like 
thoughts  that  are  too  vague  to  be  captured.  His 
gaze  wandered  back  to  the  palace,  now  looming 
ahead  of  him,  near,  splendid,  and  haughty.  The 
hand  of  Lazarus  still  held  the  lilies.  As  he  ap 
proached  the  palace  gates  he  kept  repeating  to 
himself, 

"  It  is  my  last  day.  It  is  the  last  day  of 
Zahara." 

Lazarus  was  now  madly  in  love  with  Zahara, 
It  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  by  another 
sunrise  he  should  be  beyond  the  possibility  of  a 
chance  of  beholding  her.  He  felt  utterly  be 
wildered.  He  had  now  begun  to  have  a  pre- 


COME  FORTH.  99 

science  of  what  it  was  going  to  cost  him  to  be 
parted  from  her,  but  it  was  a  dull  foreknow 
ledge  ;  Lazarus  did  not  belong  either  to  the  age 
or  to  the  race  of  introspective  lovers,  and  his 
experience  overtook  him,  not  he  it. 

Since  the  last  meeting  with  Zahara,  which  we 
have  recorded,  Lazarus  had  beheld  her  but  once. 
Then  she  suffered  him  to  speak  with  her  for  as 
many  moments  as  she  might,  undisturbed  of  her 
women.  Lazarus  found  in  that  benignant  favor 
great  comfort,  if  no  hope.  It  could  not  be  de 
nied  that  Zahara  pleased  herself  with  Lazarus. 
Lazarus  was  too  single-minded  to  reflect  that  she 
was  perhaps  amusing  herself.  He  drank  her 
presence  as  the  parched  side  of  Lebanon  drank 
the  scanty  rills  from  its  heights,  and  beyond 
his  thirst  and  her  refreshing  knew  not  the  uses 
of  thought. 

But  upon  the  occasion  to  which  we  refer, 
Zahara  had  succeeded  in  troubling  the  soul  of 
Lazarus  upon  other  grounds  than  the  bestowal 
or  the  withdrawal  of  her  bright  and  precious 
presence.  Zahara  had  said,  with  considerable 
promptness,  as  she  stood  playing  with  the  tassel 
of  the  silken  curtain,  which  partly  hid  her  from 
the  young  builder's  reverent  gaze,  —  she,  just 
ready  to  dart  within  or  proudly  step  without,  to 
flee  from  him,  or  face  him,  according  to  the  na 
ture  of  the  next  interruption  which  might  befall 


100  COME  FORTH. 

this  stolen  interview  ;  he,  eager,  ardent,  at  wor 
ship,  entranced,  standing  like  one  of  his  own 
beautiful  pillars  firmly  before  her,  — •  Zahara  had 
said  :  — 

"  I  think  the  less  of  your  judgment,  Lazarus, 
for  the  matter  I  heard  you  relate  to  my  father,  the 
other  day.  I  thought  you  were  a  sensible  man. 
How  can  you  meddle  with  such  low-lived  af 
fairs?" 

"  Explain  thyself,  Zahara,"  said  Lazarus 
faintly.  But  he  knew  perfectly  well  what  she 
meant. 

"  Why,  this  fellow,  —  this  Jesus,"  pouted  Za 
hara.  "  He  is  no  companion  for  you." 

"  He  is  not  my  companion,"  returned  Lazarus, 
lifting  his  head.  "  He  is  my  master." 

"  That  is  worse  yet,"  retorted  Zahara.  "  You 
cannot  expect  a  princess  to  approve  of  such  a 
person." 

"I  expect  nothing,  Zahara,"  said  Lazarus 
manfully,  looking  straight  at  her.  "  But  my 
duty  is  my  own ;  and  my  manner  of  following  it 
must  be  mine  also." 

Zahara  returned  his  look  proudly.  In  her 
heart  she  thought  the  more  of  this  young  man 
for  his  sturdy  speech  ;  but  it  was  not  in  her 
nature  easily  to  say  so. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Zahara,  playing  with 
the  bangles  on  the  gemmed  bracelet  that  clasped 


COME  FORTH ^     ,  ',101 

her  upper  arm,  "that  this  is  a  very  plebeian 
religion  you  are  interested  in." 

"  The  religion  of  our  fathers  is  the  religion  of 
the  prophets,"  answered  Lazarus,  with  less  assur 
ance.  "  It  is  surely  a  respectable  one,  Zahara." 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  you  think  this  fellow 
Him  of  whom  the  prophets  testified  ?  You  have 
not  gone  astray  with  that  madness  ?  "  Zahara's 
young  lip  curled. 

"  If  Jesus  of  Nazareth  be  the  Messiah,"  said 
Lazarus  evasively,  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
numbered  among  those  who  are  ranged  against 
him." 

"  But  come  !  think  you  he  is  the  Messiah  ?  " 
persisted  Zahara.  "  There  are  so  many  of  them  ! 
They  come  up  like  weeds,  every  day  or  two." 

She  spoke  with  a  pretty,  feminine  gesture,  a 
slighting  motion,  as  if  the  whole  subject  were 
beneath  a  well-born  observation.  But  her  coun 
tenance  expressed  serious,  almost  earnest  atten 
tion,  an  intellectual  apprehension  of  the  question 
not  common  to  the  women  of  her  race  and  time. 
There  seemed  to  be  two  Zaharas  in  the  girl :  one 
battled  with  the  other,  and  one  was  quite  su 
perior  to  the  other ;  but  it  was  not  the  superior, 
by  any  means,  who  presumably  conquered.  She 
was  not  a  simple  Jewish  maiden  like  the  damsels 
whom  Lazarus  had  known.  She  had  will  and 
purpose ;  she  had,  moreover,  thoughts. 


>  COME  FORTH. 

"  Is  this  Jesus  the  Messiah  ? "  repeated  Za- 
hara. 

"  How  know  I  ?  "  replied  Lazarus.  He  looked 
at  Zahara.  His  eyes  overflowed  with  tenderness. 
He  felt  at  the  moment  that  he  knew  nothing 
in  this  world  except  that  Zahara  was.  Her  own 
bright  gaze  drooped  before  him.  The  breath  of 
Lazarus  came  violently.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was 
forgotten. 

Lazarus  reached  the  palace  upon  this  last  day 
of  his  service  there  with  whirling  brain.  He 
still  held  the  flowers  in  his  hand,  he  could  not 
have  told  wherefore.  He  found  it  difficult  to 
give  orders  to  his  artists.  His  workmen  mut 
tered  among  themselves  that  the  master's  wits 
were  gone  star-gazing.  But  Lazarus  put  the 
lilies  away  in  the  shade  of  a  pillar,  in  a  cool 
spot.  There  was  a  little  jug  of  water,  left  by 
one  of  the  men,  and  Lazarus  placed  the  stems 
of  the  flowers  in  the  water.  He  had  no  definite 
idea  in  doing  this,  except  that  the  lilies  were 
precious,  being  like  Zahara,  and  should  be  cared 
for.  In  the  course  of  the  morning  one  of  his 
men  upset  the  jug  accidentally,  and  mopped  up 
the  water  from  the  marble  floor  with  an  old 
piece  of  linen,  ^he  flowers  he  threw  away. 
Awhile  after,  Lazarus  asked :  — 

"  Jacob,  where  are  the  flowers  of  red  and  of 
white,  left  under  yonder  pillar  ?  " 


COME  FORTH  103 

"  Over  the  wall,"  said  Jacob  carelessly. 

Lazarus  turned  upon  the  man  with  a  sharp 
rebuke,  at  which  the  fellow  stared. 

"Of  what  value  were  the  weeds?"  returned 
Jacob,  with  the  contempt  which  the  man  feels 
for  the  master's  weaknesses,  none  the  less,  per 
haps,  because  he  dare  not  express  it.  Then  Laz 
arus  remembered  in  a  dazed  way  that  Jacob  did 
not  know  that  Zahara  was  a  lily,  and  the  lily 
was  Zahara ;  and  she  was  the  lily  of  red,  and 
the  lily  of  white  was  she. 

Lazarus  in  silence  went  without  the  wall,  and 
found  the  lilies.  They  drooped  in  the  scorching 
noon  sun ;  he  gathered  them  to  his  heart  and 
protected  them,  and  refilled  the  little  jug  and 
revived  the  flowers.  They  held  up  their  heads, 
and  seemed  to  look  at  him  gratefully.  They 
were  not  as  haughty  as  they  were  before  the 
accident  had  happened  to  them.  They  seemed 
to  have  become  humbled  and  disciplined  flow 
ers. 

The  day  wore  on.  Annas,  the  High  priest, 
came  out  to  regard  the  work.  He  approved  of 
it,  and  praised  it  with  well-bred  reserve. 

"I  may  wish  further  repairs  undertaken  in 
the  interior,"  observed  Annas,  "  but  they  cannot 
be  managed  except  the  palace  is  vacated.  I 
shall  probably  move  to  my  country-seat  at  Ca 
pernaum  for  some  weeks  in  the  heat  of  the 


104  COME  FORTH. 

season.  You  can  easily  work  upon  the  building 
while  my  family  are  absent  from  it." 

Lazarus  bowed.  He  said  neither  yea  nor  nay. 
His  heart  beat  violent]y.  A  cloud  settled  be 
fore  his  eyes.  The  palace  —  and  Zahara  not 
within  it !  To  toil  up  there  in  the  hot  weather, 
and  listen  to  the  jabber  of  the  workmen  and 
the  chip-chipping  of  their  tools  —  and  Zahara 
at  Capernaum  ! 

"  By  the  God  of  my  fathers,"  thought  Laza 
rus,  "  Annas  may  look  otherwhere  for  a  master- 
builder.  Of  this  job  will  I  none." 

But  he  was  discreet  enough  not  to  say  so. 
The  work  was  not  offered  to  him  yet.  He  re 
mained  so  silent  that  Annas  regarded  him  with 
a  slight  frown,  and  moved  haughtily  away.  Sud 
denly  he  turned  back,  and  again  approached  the 
builder. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  High  priest  urbanely, 
"  what  has  become  of  this  Nazarene  of  whom  I 
did  converse  with  you  on  one  occasion  ?  " 

"  He  is  about  his  Father's  business,"  replied 
Lazarus  in  a  low  tone.  "  He  doeth  the  will  of 
God,  as  he  doth  at  all  times." 

The  High  priest  smiled  a  chill,  contemptuous 
smile.  He  stroked  his  impressive  beard. 

"You  know  him  well,  it  seems,  my  young 
friend?" 

"  I  have  said  it.     Very  well." 


COME  FORTH.  105 

"  You  meet  him  often,  I  understand  ?  "  asked 
the  priest.  There  was  a  slight  \flicker  in  his 
cold  black  eye.  The  two  men  watched  each 
other  warily. 

"  I  have  met  him  very  often,"  said  Lazarus 
quietly. 

uBut  not  of  late?" 

Lazarus  hesitated.    "  No,  not  of  late." 

"  And  pray,  may  I  inquire  why?" 

u  I  have  been  absorbed  in  business.  I  have 
been  preoccupied.  I  have  not  found  it  possible 
to  conduct  the  friendship  you  speak  of  as  as 
siduously  as  I  have  done  at  former  times,  or," 
added  Lazarus,  "  as  I  wish  to  do,  and  as  I  mean 
to  do,  when  I  am  less  engaged." 

"  How  long,"  insisted  the  High  priest,  "  is  it 
since  you  have  spoken  with  your  master  ?  " 

He  emphasized  the  last  word  with  a  sarcasm 
at  which  Lazarus  colored. 

"  I  am  an  unworthy  disciple,"  said  the  young 
man  quickly.  "  It  is  longer  than  it  ought  to  be 
since  I  have  spoken  with  him  whom  above  all 
public  men  in  Judea  to-day  I  do  respect." 

Now,  in  fact,  it  was  weeks  since  Lazarus  had 
taken  the  trouble  to  see  the  Nazarene  ;  so  many, 
that  he  was  ashamed  to  count  them  in  the  pre 
sence  of  the  most  powerful  enemy  of  the  new 
Rabbi  and  the  new  faith  known  to  Jewish  reli 
gious  circles.  Lazarus  felt  that  he  was  trying 


106  COME   FORTH. 

to  atone  for  his  too  evident  neglect  by  a  too  ap 
parent  devotion  of  the  lip.  He  felt  ashamed, 
and  he  felt  that  Annas  knew  he  felt  ashamed : 
the  slight,  sharp  smile  with  which  the  High 
priest  moved  away  rankled  in  the  soul  of  his 
master-builder. 

"  I  will  see  Jesus,"  vowed  Lazarus  to  himself. 
"  I  will  see  him  before  another  sun  has  set." 

At  this  moment  he  heard  a  low  voice  from 
behind  the  curtain  of  the  women's  antecham 
bers,  —  a  royal  voice ;  it  had  purple  in  it,  he 
thought,  like  the  woven  silk  of  the  curtain  ;  it 
said :  — 

"  Lazarus  ?  " 

"  Here  am  I,"  responded  Lazarus  eagerly. 

But  nothing  further  followed.  Zahara  did 
not  present  herself. 

Presently  he  heard  her  calling  to  that  little 
maiden  she  did  favor. 

"  Rebecca  ?  come  thou  and  comfort  me,  Re 
becca."  Lazarus  wished  he  were  that  little 
maiden. 

Now  it  fell  that  the  end  of  that  day  came  and 
Zahara  had  not  shown  her  face  to  Lazarus.  He 
worked  on  drearily.  He  was  sick  at  heart. 

"  Does  she  not  know,"  he  thought,  "  does 
she  not  remember  ?  It  is  the  last.  I  shall  see 
her  no  more." 

But  Zahara  was  not  to  be  seen. 


COME  FORTH.  107 

Night  came  on.  The  sun  dropped,  and  the 
cool  of  the  evening  gathered.  The  call  to  prayer 
sounded  from  the  great  Temple.  The  workmen 
laid  down  their  tools.  The  drops  stood  upon 
the  forehead  of  Lazarus.  His  voice  grew  thick 
and  faint.  He  looked  at  his  men  with  a  kind  of 
bewildered  appeal. 

"  You  seem  to  be  tired  out,  or  you  are  ill, 
master,"  said  he  whom  they  call  Jacob,  respect 
fully.  "  It  is  a  good  work.  A  man  should  re 
joice  in  it."  Jacob  was  especially  attentive  to 
Lazarus,  for  the  sake  of  that  sweet  Mary  who 
sat  in  the  synagogue  and  prayed  to  God,  and 
remembered  no  man. 

"Yes,"  returned  his  master  with  an  effort,  "it 
is  an  honest  work,  and  does  us  all  credit.  Go 
you  to  your  homes  and  rest  upon  it.  Or  — 
stay.  Call  at  the  house  of  Simon  the  Leper, 
and  make  my  wish  known  to  Martha,  my  sister, 
that  she  spread  a  feast  for  ye,  in  honor  of  the 
completion  of  this  our  service  at  the  palace  of 
the  High  priest.  Make  yourselves  merry,  my 
men ;  but  make  your  merriment  without  your 
master.  Behold,  I  would  remain  alone  and  ob 
serve  the  work,  and  study  it  until  the  fall  of 
dusk,  that  I  may  not  overlook  any  defect  or  pos 
sible  improvement  upon  it.  Leave  me,  there 
fore,  and  go  your  ways." 

The  workmen  having  obeyed,  Lazarus  stood 


108  COME  FORTH. 

alone  upon  the  portico,  and  it  was  the  hour  of 
sunset.  He  could  see  the  quivering  cup  of  the 
deep  sky  above  the  court ;  the  walls  of  the  palace 
shut  him  in  ;  he  examined  the  carven  pillars  with 
blurring  eye  and  trembling  hand ;  the  purple 
curtain  behind  him  hung  listlessly  in  the  still 
air.  Distant  steps  sounded  through  the  palace, 
and  then  hushed. 

" 1  must  go,"  thought  Lazarus.  "  I  must  de 
part.  She  cometh  not." 

He  moved  unsteadily  across  the  portico,  and 
hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  and  not  in  the 
least  knowing  why,  he  stooped  and  took  the  two 
flowers,  the  scarlet  lily  and  the  white,  from  their 
shelter  in  the  little  jug.  As  he  stood  turning 
them  about  in  his  hands,  a  low  voice  behind  him 
murmured :  — 

"Lazarus?  Not  gone  yet?  Thou  makest  a 
long  day's  work  of  it." 

"Zahara!" 

He  whirled  and  saw  her,  standing  quite  near, 
standing  quite  still.  She  was  veiled.  Her  eyes 
regarded  him  merrily.  She  wore  the  robe  of 
purple  and  of  gold  that  he  had  noticed  upon  her 
when'  first  he  saw  her.  She  shone  through  the 
twilight  like  a  meteor  caught  to  light  the  palace. 
She  glittered  with  many  little  ornaments  and 
trinkets  such  as  the  girl  of  the  East  loves.  All 
the  last  rays  of  the  departing  day  were  im- 


COME  FORTH.  109 

prisoned  by  her  radiant  figure.  It  seemed  to 
Lazarus  that  the  setting  of  the  sun  upon  the 
world  was  but  the  symbol  of  the  setting  of  this 
woman  upon  his  life.  He  would  have  said 
somewhat  to  her,  but  his  lips  trembled  and  were 
dumb.  He  bowed  his  head  low  before  her  and 
placed  the  two  lilies  in  her  little  hand. 

The  merriment  faded  out  of  Zahara's  face. 
She  drew  herself  together  haughtily  ;  then,  sud 
denly,  for  she  looked  long  and  steadfastly  upon 
Lazarus,  her  queenly  regard  drooped  before  him. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  received  the 
flowers  with  a  courteous  gesture,  and  modestly 
sheltered  them  in  the  folds  of  her  robe.  The 
womanliness,  nay,  what  might  almost  be  called 
the  tenderness,  of  this  action  set  Lazarus  beside 
himself. 

"  Zahara !  "  he  murmured,  "  thou  art  the  lily 
of  scarlet,  for  thou  shinest  like  the  living  fire. 
And  thou  art  the  lily  of  white,  for  thou  art  as 
pure  as  the  whitest  cloud  in  heaven.  I  have 
drunk  the  dew  from  the  scarlet  flower,  and  I 
have  touched  the  flower  of  white  to  my  lips,  — 
for  thou  art  Zahara ;  thou  art  the  woman  of 
flowers  and  the  flower  of  women ;  thou  art  fire 
and  snow,  and  blossom  and  storm,  Zahara !  — 
and  I  love  thee." 

The  daughter  of  the  High  priest  gave  the 
builder  one  blinding  look ;  in  it  were  reproach 


110  COME  FORTH. 

and  appeal,  sorrow  and  tenderness,  pride  and 
terror,  repulse  and  longing,  —  the  whole  nature 
of  woman  was  in  it.  But  Lazarus  did  not  un 
derstand  women.  Zahara  fled.  That  was  all 
which  Lazarus  understood.  Zahara  fled  from 
him  as  the  shadow  of  the  lily  moves  upon  the 
grass  beneath  the  rising  wind.  The  embroidered 
curtain  swayed  and  swung.  Its  purple  folds 
came  together  with  a  soft  sound  like  the  meet 
ing  of  delicate  lips.  Zahara,  behind  them,  had 
vanished. 

Lazarus  stood  for  a  few  moments  confused 
with  anguish ;  then  he  bowed  himself  together, 
and  gathered  up  the  few  tools  left  upon  the  por 
tico  and  the  little  jug  that  had  held  the  lilies,  and 
staggered  away.  An  officer  of  the  palace  spoke 
to  him  and  bade  him  farewell  politely.  Lazarus 
answered,  but  knew  not  what.  He  went  out 
blindly  into  the  dark,  and  felt  for  the  path  that 
led  away  from  the  palace. 

He  did  not  find  it,  being  so  troubled  and 
darkened  in  his  mind,  and  groped  about  for  a 
little  upon  the  short,  hot  grass,  on  whose  parched 
surface  the  dew  was  beginning  to  fall. 

"  Nay,  then,  Lazarus,  I  would  have  a  word 
with  thee,"  said  a  soft  voice  at  his  very  side. 
And  lo,  there,  like  a  statue  carved  out  of  the 
tender  night,  still,  dim  and  trembling,  Zahara 
stood. 


COME  FORTH.  Ill 

"  Zahara !  Thou  wilt  be  blamed !  What  will 
be  said  to  thee?  That  would  kill  me.  Thou 
comest  —  alone  —  thou  —  to  me  —  Zahara !  " 

"  I  go,"  panted  the  girl,  "  I  return.  I  do  not 
stay.  I  but  fled  from  my  father's  palace  —  and 
no  one  did  observe  me;  and ~ it  is  dark;  and  I 
fly  back  to  my  father." 

"  Thou  shouldst  never  leave  me !  "  cried  Laz 
arus,  "  if  my  heart  had  its  will.  Thou  shouldst 
shelter  thyself  within  mine  arms,  and  I  would 
call  thee  mine  for  ever,  for  I  love  thee  !  I  love 
thee ! " 

" And  I —  thee"  breathed  Zahara  faintly. 
With  these  incredible  words,  Zahara  turned, 
towered  like  a  princess,  and  fled,  like  a  fright 
ened  deer,  back  to  the  palace.  The  darkness 
closed  about  her,  and  shut  between  herself  and 
her  lover  as  if  it  were  a  veil  of  scented  gauze. 
Lazarus  stood  like  a  man  struck  dead  with  joy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IT  was  nightfall  at  Bethany.  In  the  house  of 
Rachel  the  widow,  and  Baruch  the  blind  man, 
excitement  reigned.  ,  A  great  event  had  hap 
pened. 

Without  the  ^porch,  panting  with  weariness, 
upon  a  litter,  lay  a  little  maiden,  pale  and  frail, 
but  peaceful  as  no  well  maiden  ever  is.  Ari- 
ella  had  been  brought  over  to  visit  Rachel,  her 
neighbor.  She  was  to  remain  until  the  morrow. 
Malachi  and  Baruch,  with  the  help  of  a  slave, 
had  borne  the  girl  thither,  and  the  same  hands 
would  return  her  before  another  sunset  to  her 
father's  house.  Malachi  had  grumbled  over  the 
job,  which  he  held  to  be  an  unnecessary  tax 
upon  a  man's  time  and  attention,  but  Hagaar 
had  said :  — 

"  Verily,  thou  wilt  never  put  thyself  to  a  bet 
ter  use.  Give  the  girl  her  way."  For  Baruch 
had  dealt  privately  with  Hagaar,  and  urged  the 
matter,  taking  no  denial.  And  Hagaar  and 
Malachi  had  returned  to  their  own  dwelling  ; 
and  Ariella  lay  upon  the  litter  without  the  house 
of  Rachel,  begging  not  to  be  carried  within,  till 


COME  FORTH.  113 

she  must  needs  sleep  ;  for  Ariella  drank  the  air 
of  heaven  as  an  Arab  dying  of  thirst  in  the  des 
ert  drinks  from  the  gourd  held  to  his  stiffening 
lips. 

On  the  way  from  the  house  of  her  father  to 
the  home  of  Rachel,  Ariella  had  suffered  acutely ; 
every  step  of  the  bearers,  jarring  the  litter,  dif 
fused  agony  through  the  poor  girl's  body ;  but 
she  had  not  said  so.  At  every  glimpse  of  the 
living  world  she  had  evinced  the  keenest  delight. 
It  was  :  — - 

"  Oh,  father,  the  light !  The  light  of  the  sun 
on  the  fields !  How  broad  a  thing  is  an  after 
noon  !  " 

44  Baruch,  I  see  a  hill  of  tulips  :  they  run  up 
and  down ;  they  are  red,  like  torch-bearers  at  a 
race." 

"  Mother,  give  me  thy  hand.  Lift  my  head 
a  little  that  I  may  look  toward  Jerusalem.  The 
Temple  shineth  like  the  rising  of  the  day.  In 
the  Temple  is  the  Ark.  In  the  Ark  God  dwell- 
eth.  The  people  go  up  ;  they  go  up  like  prayer 
into  the  heart  of  Jehovah !  Would  that  I  could 
see  the  Temple !  The  cheek  of  Olivet  lif teth 
between." 

Ariella  lay  now  upon  her  litter,  herself  as 
mute  as  an  exhausted  prayer  ;  the  excitement  of 
the  day  had  sunk  into  its  reaction,  the  thrill 
of  joy  had  fallen  into  the  grip  of  pain.  The 


114  COME  FORTH. 

invalid's  hopeless  consciousness  of  suffering  re 
turned  like  the  fall  of  night.  Ariella's  face 
became  pinched  with  anguish ;  the  lines  about 
her  mouth  deepened  like  those  in  the  face  of  an 
old  woman,  —  she  was  but  twenty-five. 

"  Leave  me  to  myself,"  she  panted.  "  Leave 
me,  Rachel.  Leave  me,  Baruch.  Weariness 
overcometh  me,  for  the  exertion  hath  been  great. 
Do  not  watch  me,  —  nay,  I  shall  the  better  en 
dure  alone." 

"  But  Baruch  cannot  see  thee,"  protested  mat 
ter-of-fact  Rachel. 

"  Baruch  watcheth  the  closer,  for  that,"  mur 
mured  Ariella.  Baruch's  sensitive  face  fir-lied  ; 
he  rose  without  a  word  and  left  their  guest. 
Rachel  soon  followed  him,  as  the  sick  gi  le 
her.  And  Ariella  had  her  will  — sometim  .he 
only  one  left  to  the  sick :  she  was  alone  with  her 
agony. 

The  litter  had  been  set  down  in  a  cool,  wide 
space  in  front  of  the  house  of  Rachel.  "  In 
something  green,"  Ariella  had  begged,  but  it 
was  too  late  in  the  season  to  find  the  parched 
grass  green.  Behind  her  the  low  house  looked 
quiet  and  home-like  ;  and  the  faint  glimmer  of 
Rachel's  single  candle  shone  upon  the  paved 
court  and  dull  white  sand.  Baruch  stood  in  the 
doorway,  a  silent,  waiting  figure.  He  seemed 
like  a  man  who  expected  something,  and  was 


COME  FORTH.  115 

patient  and  impatient  by  turns.  Without,  the 
darkening  country  looked  to  the  imprisoned  girl 
as  wide  as  all  heaven.  Between  the  spasms  of 
her  pain  she  regarded  it  eagerly. 

Eastward  of  her,  the  road  to  Jericho,  rough, 
wild,  dangerous,  and  ragged,  wound  over  and 
among  the  hills.  Ariella  could  almost  mark  the 
spot  where  her  misfortune  had  befallen  her  nine 
years  ago.  A  caravan  was  winding  upward 
slowly,  the  outline  of  the  camels  rising  and  fall 
ing  like  the  outlines  of  ships  upon  a  restless 
sea.  The  caravan  was  coming  towards  Jerusa 
lem.  The  travelers  were  singing ;  they  sang  the 
Psalms  of  Degrees.  Beyond,  the  desert  of  Ju- 
dea  stretched  far  and  frowning. 

Turning  her  head,  the  sick  girl  looked  about 
the  little  hamlet  of  Bethany.  The  Roman  for 
tress  rose,  a  grim,  firm  fact,  against  which  every 
Jewish  heart  revolted.  The  houses  of  Ariella's 
people  were  built  without  the  fortress  line.  Now 
and  then  the  spear  of  a  Roman  soldier  caught 
the  dying  light  upon  its  tip. 

Yonder,  against  the  mountain-side,  sepulchres 
showed,  cut  into  the  solid  rock.  These  were 
owned  by  the  wealthier  families  of  Bethany. 
Ariella  gazed  upon  their  solemn  outlines  qui 
etly. 

"My  life  is  a  sepulchre,"  she  said  aloud. 
"  What  doth  it  matter  ?  " 


116  COME  FORTH. 

A  slight  sound  behind  the  head  of  Ariella's 
litter  attracted,  but  did  not  arrest,  her  attention. 
She  could  not  see,  or  she  had  not  noticed,  that 
the  figure  of  the  blind  man  had  disappeared 
from  the  doorway.  Baruch  stood  behind  an 
olive-tree,  and  the  olive-tree  stood  behind  Ari- 
ella. 

Now  Ariella  turned  her  head  at  this  moment 
to  look  further  downward  to  the  southeast, 
where,  far  beyond  her  gaze,  the  sombre  surface 
of  the  Dead  Sea  lay.  One  of  the  little  freakish 
fancies  of  the  sick  possessed  her.  No  person 
ever  drowned  in  the  Salt  Dead  Sea. 

Oh,  to  be  borne  thither  in  her  litter,  and  set 
afloat  upon  the  strong  water,  and  float  her  life 
out  on  that  soft  bed  ! 

"It  would  never  hurt  one's  back,"  thought 
Ariella.  She  laughed  aloud  at  this  conceit  of 
hers,  and  tried  to  move  upon  her  pillows,  to  raise 
herself  upon  one  arm  and  look  along  the  valley 
till  sight  should  be  lost  in  the  purpling  gloom. 
The  effort  caused  her  such  pain  that  she  uttered 
an  involuntary  groan. 

Ariella  seldom  groaned.  This  was  a  down 
right  cry  of  agony,  and  fell  piteously  enough 
from  the  poor  girl's  lips. 

"  Oh,  Ariella !  "  cried  Baruch,  darting  forward 
from  behind  the  olive-tree.  He  stood  before 
her ;  he  bent  over  her  ;  he  trembled  with  sympa- 


COME  FORTH.  117 

thy,  —  the  tenderest  that  man  or  woman  had 
ever  shown  for  Ariella. 

"  Oh ! "  moaned  Baruch,  "  could  I  only  see 
how  to  comfort  thee  !  " 

"You feel  how,"  said  Ariella,  collecting  her 
self  at  once. 

"If  love  could  comfort,"  breathed  Baruch, 
"if  love  could  heal "  — 

"Love  helps,"  answered  Ariella.  "Love 
serves." 

"  Men  and  women  who  are  not  afflicted  of 
God,  —  who  love  as  they  will,  and  do  as  they 
would,  —  these  are  happy  people,  Ariella." 

"  We  are  not  as  they,"  said  Ariella  solemnly. 
Baruch  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  groped  for 
hers.  The  sick  girl  laid  her  hand  in  that  of  the 
blind  man.  Both  shook.  Baruch  bowed  his 
face  reverently  above  that  poor  little  feverish 
hand.  He  did  not  touch  it  with  his  lips.  He 
did  not  dare.  After  all,  he  was  a  man.  If  he 
had  touched  Ariella,  he  felt  as  if  he  should  have 
gone  mad  with  love  and  despair. 

"Is  this  Baruch  the  blind  man?"  asked  at 
that  moment  a  wonderful  voice.  Baruch  did 
not  start  or  release  the  hand  of  Ariella.  He 
held  it  like  a  man,  and  quietly  made  answer :  — 

"Yea,  Lord,  I  am  he." 

"  And  the  maiden  of  whom  thou  didst  speak 
with  me,  —  do  I  behold  her  ?  " 


118  COME  FORTH. 

"  Thou  beholdest  her  indeed." 

"  Knoweth  she  that  I  am  come  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Lord,  she  knoweth  not." 

"  Give  space  to  me  that  I  may  stand  beside 
her." 

The  voice  which  spoke  was  one  of  unquestion 
able  authority.  Ariella  started  under  it.  She 
looked  up,  frightened  and  panting,  through  the 
dark. 

"Be  calm,  Ariella,"  said  Baruch  quietly. 
"  He  of  whom  I  spoke  to  thee  is  here." 

"  You  arranged  this,  Baruch  ?  —  you  planned 
to  bring  me  here  —  and  told  me  not!"  There 
was  a  touch  of  reproach  in  the  girl's  tone.  She 
had  fallen  so  thoroughly  into  Baruch's  loving 
plot  that  her  first  sense  of  being  deluded  almost 
overpowered  any  other  consciousness. 

"  What  I  have  done,  I  have  done,"  said  Baruch 
firmly.  "  It  becometh  thee  not  to  distrust  me, 
Ariella.  It  is  not  in  thy  power  to  distrust  him" 

Baruch  pointed  at  the  commanding  figure  of 
their  visitor,  who,  during  this  delay,  had  stood 
both  silent  and  still.  The  three  made  a  singular 
group :  the  blind  man  bent  forward,  eager, 
trembling,  his  whole  body  straining  as  if  to  see ; 
the  sick  girl  panting  on  the  litter ;  and  the 
solemn  figure,  mute  as  fate,  before  them. 

It  was  now  so  dark  that  Ariella  could  not  even 
see  the  familiar  features  of  Baruch,  bent  so  near 


COME   FORTH.  119 

and  turned  so  tenderly  toward  her.  Of  the 
stranger  she  could  perceive  absolutely  nothing 
except  the  outline  of  a  grand  form  ;  the  manli 
est,  the  most  authoritative,  she  thought,  that  she 
had  ever  beneleC*^  The  face  of  the  man  was 
wrapped  in  the  darkness  of  the  summer  night. 
Ariella  struggled  for  a  sight  of  it,  but  it  was  as 
dim  before  her  as  the  will  of  God. 

Rachel  had  now  come  out  from  the  house,  and 
finding  the  three  fallen  upon  an  utter  silence, 
joined  them  herself  without  a  word.  She  stood 
behind  the  olive-tree  for  a  moment,  unseen ;  then 
she  advanced,  and  knelt  beside  the  litter,  very 
near  Ariella.  Rachel  quite  understood  what  was 
going  forward,  for  Baruch  had  confided  in  her ; 
and  Rachel  was  one  of  those  who  trusted  in  the 
Nazarene. 

He  seemed  almost  as  if  he  were  indefinably 
strengthened  by  the  presence  of  this  common 
place  woman ;  as  if  she  had  added  faith  or  the 
material  of  power  to  the  situation.  He  moved 
nearer  to  the  litter,  and  broke  the  oppressive 
isilence ;  but  it  was  only  to  ask  a  simple  ques 
tion  •  — 

us  the  mother  of  the  maiden  ?  " 

Lord,"  replied  Rachel.  "  She  is  my 
gut  .id  the  friend  of  my  afflicted  son.  Baruch 
said  that  thou  wouldst  heal  her."  Had  it  been 
a  little  less  dark,  they  could  have  seen  that  the 


120  COME  FORTH. 

Nazarene  smiled  slightly,  as  a  man  does  who 
hears  from  children  the  prattle  of  knowledge 
already  his  own.  But  his  smile  was  as  invisible 
to  these  agitated  people  as  the  sun  that  had  set 
behind  Mount  Olivet.  The  most  powerful  per 
sonality  in  Judea  presented  himself  to  these 
three  souls  only  in  the  form  of  a  voice. 

But  what  a  voice  !  Ariella' s  nature  rang  with 
it.  It  was  as  strong  as  the  winds.  It  was  as 
sweet  as  love.  It  ran  as  deep  as  the  sea.  It 
commanded  the  heart  as  heaven  commands  the 
earth ;  but  it  appealed  to  the  sensibility  as  ten 
derly  as  if  one's  regard  were  a  precious  thing. 

"  Arietta  !  "  said  the  Nazarene.  He  spoke  as 
never  man  spake  to  the  sick  or  to  the  well. 
Ariella  felt  herself  drawn  upward,  soul  and 
body,  to  the  utterance  of  her  name  by  those  in 
visible  lips.  It  was  as  if  the  very  waves  of 
ether,  set  in  motion  by  his  voice,  encompassed 
her,  as  the  waves  of  the  sea  encompass  a  sinking 
person  who  struggles  upon  them,  if  so  be  he 
may  swim  for  his  life.  She  felt  herself  lifted 
upon  the  sound  ;  it  buoyed  her ;  she  had  a  sin 
gular  sensation,  as  if  she  began  to  float  upon  it. 

"  Yea,  Lord,"  breathed  Ariella.  She  upturned 
her  face  to  him  through  the  dark.  Poor  little 
wan,  pinched  face  !  How  feebly  it  moved ! 
Ariella  was  in  terrible  pain.  The  excitement 
and  exertion  of  the  day,  culminating  in  this  agi- 


COME  FORTH.  121 

tating  interview,  had  almost  overborne  her. 
Despite  herself,  a  low  moan  came  from  her 
lips.  At  the  sound,  the  blind  man  fell  upon  his 
knees  beside  his  mother.  Jesus  and  the  sick 
girl  remained,  the  two  undisturbed  actors  in  the 
touching  scene.  Low,  sweet,  serene,  and  com 
manding  came  the  accents  of  the  Nazarene. 
Ariella  perceived  that  he  did  inquire  of  her  con 
cerning  her  faith  in  God  his  Father,  and  in  him 
self,  the  Heavenly  Father's  Son ;  in  his  sym 
pathy  with  human  misery,  and  his  power  to  heal 
the  diseases  of  men  ;  and  he  spoke  to  her,  also, 
of  his  relation  to  her  own  peculiar  suffering. 
He  said  these  things  in  words  so  few  that  Ari 
ella  knew  not  how  it  was  he  said  them ;  but  she 
was  aware  of  these  thoughts,  and  of  his  desire 
to  understand  her  own  state  of  feeling  toward 
himself.  Above  all  else,  she  was  aware  of  the 
searching,  scorching  necessity  that  she  should 
speak  the  very  truth,  albeit  that  should  sound 
discourteous  or  distrustful  toward  the  Stranger, 
who,  overworn  and  overworked,  had  traveled  to 
Bethany,  at  the  end  of  the  hot  day's  toil,  to 
serve  an  unknown  sick  girl,  if  he  might  or  could. 
It  even  occurred  to  Ariella  that  he  was  not  sure 
that  he  could  heal  her,  and  that  his  effort  was 
worth  something  more  for  this  very  reason. 

"  Lord,"  said  Ariella,  "  how  can  any  heal  me? 
I  have  been  sick  so  long !  " 


122  COME  FORTH. 

The  Nazarene  made  no  answer.  He  had 
advanced,  and  now  stood  close  beside  the  lit 
ter  ;  he  stretched  his  hand  out,  and  motioned  to 
Ariella  through  the  dark  that  she  put  hers 
within  it. 

"  Nine  years,"  said  Ariella,  "  I  have  lain 
upon  my  bed,  —  for  nine  whole  years.  I  suffer 
very  much.  It  is  great  pain.  People  do  not 
know  about  pain.  It  tires  them  to  understand 
it.  I  try  not  to  trouble  people ;  but  I  am  not 
a  patient  girl.  I  get  worn  out  sometimes,  Lord, 
I  am  so  tired,  —  tired  out ! "  Ariella  began  to 
sob  quietly. 

"  Lord,  my  faith  has  grown  sick,  like  all  the 
rest  of  me  !  How  can  I  be  healed  ?  " 

"Lord,"  said  the  blind  man,  still  upon  his 
knees,  "  my  faith  in  thee  is  whole :  it  is  sound 
enough  to  give  life  to  the  maiden  though  she  did 
lie  in  the  tomb." 

"Baruch!  Baruch!"  cried  Ariella.  The 
blind  man  was  distressed.  He  thought  she 
should  have  cried,  "  Lord !  Lord  !  "  But 
Jesus  only  smiled  thereat,  in  the  darkness,  no 
one  being  able  to  see  the  smile. 

"  Ariella,"  said  Baruch,  "  give  to  him  that 
asketh  thee  the  touch  of  thy  hand  and  the  power 
of  thy  trust." 

Ariella  obeyed  without  a  word.  The  cool, 
strong  grasp  of  the  Nazarene  closed  over  her 


COME  FORTH.  123 

hot  little  fingers.  Immediately  there  came  to 
Ariella  the  sensation  of  floating  of  which  she 
had  thought  before.  Her  fancy  about  the  Dead 
Sea  recurred  to  her.  But  upon  the  enfeebled 
girl  there  fell  the  consciousness  of  one  who  is 
buoyed  up  on  the  sea  of  life.  Forgotten  vigor 
struck  upon  her  body,  and  ran  like  fire  through 
her  veins. 

The  Nazarene,  while  he  held  her  hand,  had 
stood  with  head  bowed  low  upon  his  breast,  like 
a  man  sunken  in  thought  or  prayer  too  deep  to 
admit  of  any  lesser  consciousness.  Now  he 
lifted  his  face,  and  solemnly  spoke  to  her :  — 

"  Maiden  !  I  say  unto  thee,  Arise !  Behold, 
I  say  unto  thee,  Arise,  and  walk !  " 

A  piteous  cry  fell  from  Ariella's  lips.  After 
ward  she  said  that  the  pain  which  shot  through 
her  whole  body  was  a  thing  too  dreadful  to  speak 
of :  the  virulence  of  years  of  physical  disorder 
seemed  to  be  in  it ;  it  was  as  if  her  disease  had 
a  spirit,  and  a  spite,  and  revenged  itself  by 
wrenching  her  as  it  yielded  to  the  mysterious 
power  of  the  Healer. 

Baruch,  at  the  sound  of  her  anguish,  sprang 
forward  and  would  have  caught  her,  but  Jesus 
restrained  him. 

"  Go  into  yonder  door  of  the  house,"  said  the 
Nazarene,  "  and  behind  it  thou  shalt  find  a  tall 
jug  standing  upon  the  floor.  Bring  it  hither  to 
me." 


124  COME  FORTH. 

Ariella  arose  from  her  litter  at  these  words. 
She  stood  upon  her  feet,  and  tottered. 

"  Go,"  repeated  the  Nazarene.  And  Ariella 
went.  She  walked  from  the  olive-tree  toward 
the  door  of  Rachel's  house,  alone,  unaided,  and 
firmly.  Rachel  and  Baruch  stood  breathless. 
They  dared  not  follow  her.  Rachel  could  see 
her  slight  figure,  wrapped  in  its  little  careless 
invalid  dress,  swaying  before  the  faint  light  of 
Rachel's  candle,  the  solitary  home-light.  Ari 
ella  stooped  and  lifted  the  jug.  It  was  a  heavy 
jug,  containing  water.  The  sick  girl  lifted  it 
upon  her  head,  and  came  back  across  the  dark 
space,  walking  steadily.  The  two  observers 
watched  her  in  silence.  The  third  leaned  his 
blind  face  forward  touchingly.  Baruch  fancied 
that  the  breath  of  the  Nazarene  came  a  little 
quickly;  but  he  was  not  sure.  His  own  vio 
lently  beating  heart  almost  drowned  his  con 
sciousness  of  every  other  fact. 

Ariella  returned.  She  walked  up  to  the  Naza 
rene  with  a  firm  step.  She  removed  the  jug 
from  her  head  with  one  hand,  and  laid  it  at  his 
feet. 

Then,  without  a  word,  she  herself  dropped 
there ;  she  fell  upon  her  knees  ;  she  bowed  her 
face  ;  she  laid  her  lips  to  the  travel-stained  feet 
of  the  Healer,  and  pressed  them  with  awe  to 
her  cheek. 


COME  FORTH.  125 

"  Lord,"  said  Ariella,  "  Lord,  forgive  me.  I 
am  healed  because  of  thee.  Lord,  I  have  been 
sick  so  long !  .  .  .  Teach  me  how  to  be  well." 

Rachel  was  sobbing  under  the  olive-tree.  But 
Baruch  fell  upon  his  knees  beside  Ariella.  He 
trembled  with  joy. 

"  Master  !  "  he  cried.  He  put  out  his  blind 
hands,  in  the  dark,  and  groped  for  Jesus.  But 
the  space  which  had  held  that  figure  of  mercy 
and  of  command  was  empty.  The  Nazarene  had 
vanished. 

Ariella  arose  from  her  knees,  and  without  a 
word  walked  into  the  house.  She  moved  like  a 
person  intoxicated  with  joy.  Rachel  picked  up 
the  jug  :  she  and  Baruch  followed  Ariella,  silent 
too. 

The  empty  litter  remained  under  the  olive- 
tree. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  Ariella  and  Rachel  and  Baruch  reached 
the  house  together,  that  evening,  a  strange  spirit 
fell  upon  them.  The  excitement  of  the  tremen 
dous  event  which  had  befallen  Ariella  took  the 
form  of  an  intense  calm.  Baruch  hardly  knew 
what  he  expected  ;  more,  and  less,  than  he  ex 
pected  had  come  to  pass,  fie  strained  his  sen 
sitive  ears  to  hear  the  sound  of  Ariella's  step 
upon  his  mother's  floor.  Wonderful  sound ! 
Ariella  walked  to  and  fro  to  try  her  feet ;  they 
sprang  like  birds  or  butterflies  lightly  hovering 
up  and  down ;  for  some  moments  she  flitted 
about,  for  sheer  pleasure  of  flitting;  but  she  did 
not  say  one  word ;  then  suddenly  she  sank  upon 
a  little  white  linen  ottoman  which  stood  against 
the  wall,  and  gave  a  pretty  yawn,  like  a  child 
who  is  sleepy  or  tired,  —  a  sound  of  pure  health 
and  physical  comfort.  When  had  any  one  heard 
a  sound  like  that  from  this  invalid's  lips  ? 

"Rachel,"  said  Ariella,  "I  am  so  sleepy! 
How  strange  a  feeling !  Dear  Baruch,  you  can 
not  think  how  delightful  it  is  !  It  runs  through 
my  body  and  my  brain  like  the  fall  of  dew.  I 


COME  FORTH.  127 

have  no  pain.  What  shall  I  do?  How  does 
one  act  who  has  no  pain  ?  I  ought  to  speak ;  I 
should  talk  to  you.  I  have  nothing  to  say. 
What  shall  I  do?  Be  patient  with  me.  To 
wait  for  the  ache  to  tire  itself  out,  —  that  is  the 
way  to  go  to  sleep.  But  there  is  no  ache  to  wait 
for.  How  can  this  be!  ...  It  will  return. 
It  must  be  that  it  is  coming  back  to  me.  I 
would  sit  awhile  further  and  wait  for  it  and 
battle  with  it,  and  say  to  it,  Ah,  you  demon  of 
the  sick !  I  have  escaped  you  for  a  little  time 
—  so  long;  —  one  hour  —  two  hours  —  I  have  de- 

o 

fied  you !  Now  we  will  have  it  out  between  us, 
you  and  I !  " 

But  while  Ariella  spoke  the  words  she  threw 
one  thin  arm  around  her  head,  curled  her  face 
into  her  bend  of  the  elbow,  smiled  more  like  a 
baby  than  a  sick  woman,  and  fell  straightway 
into  a  deep  sleep.  It  was  a  wonderful  sleep.  It 
lasted  all  that  night ;  her  even,  healthy  breath 
ing  was  not  interrupted  by  so  much  as  a  sigh ; 
she  slept  on  and  on,  as  if  death  itself  could 
never  interfere  with  that  blessed  recuperation 
of  the  wasted  nerve,  and  as  if  life  loved  her  too 
well  ever  to  trouble  her  by  waking. 

"  Suppose  she  wake  not  ?  "  asked  Baruch,  in 
the  unreasonable  terror  of  love.  "  What  if  she 
never  wake,  O  my  mother  ?  " 

"Let  her    be,"   said    the   practical    Rachel. 


128  COME  FORTH. 

"  The  girl  perisheth  for  sleep  like  this.  I  doubt 
me  if  she  can  remember  what  it  is  to  rest  like 
other  human  creatures.  Mark  thee,  my  son,  the 
healing  is  not  complete  upon  her  yet.  Without 
this  sleep  she  might  fall  upon  her  old  ways  to 
morrow.  It  takes  more  than  two  hours  to  heal 
a  woman  for  nine  years  ridden  upon  her  bed. 
Let  her  alone,  Baruch.  There  are  many  that  do 
profess  to  heal  the  sick.  Time  is  their  testi 
mony,  my  son.  I  have  seen  many  a  broken 
heart  in  my  day  come  from  false  healing." 

"  There  are  pretenders,  I  know,"  said  Baruch. 
"  I  have  heard  of  them." 

"And  I  have  seen  them,"  whispered  Rachel, 
with  the  caution  of  an  elderly  woman.  "  I  have 
seen  lame  men  throw  away  their  staves  by  reason 
of  faith  in  false  gods  and  prophets ;  and  I  have 
seen  them  send  to  Jerusalem  for  new  ones  next 
week." 

"  But  he  is  not  as  they,"  murmured  Baruch, 
with  the  obstinacy  of  faith.  Now  Rachel  quite 
agreed  with  Baruch  concerning  the  genuineness 
of  the  healing  quality  reported  of  the  Nazarene ; 
but  it  pleased  her  to  shake  her  head  with  the 
dignity  of  experience,  and  answer  only  :  —  - 

"  At  any  rate,  let  the  girl  sleep ;  and  do  as 
much  thyself." 

"I  go  without,"  said  Baruch,  "and  keep 
watch.  Stay  you  with  our  guest,  my  mother, 
and  guard  her ;  for  she  is  precious." 


COME  FORTH.  129 

Rachel  looked  after  her  son,  as  he  departed 
from  the  room,  and  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  What  can  one  do,"  she  thought,  u  with  a 
blind  son  ?  He  thinketh  of  the  maiden  like  a 
man  with  eyes." 

But  Rachel  was  sound  asleep  herself  in  ten 
minutes;  and  neither  blind  son  nor  invalid 
guest  troubled  her  comfortable  night.  Only 
Baruch  knew  —  and  he  only  by  stealing  now 
and  then  to  the  doorway,  and  reverently  listen 
ing  to  the  slightest  sound  from  within  —  only 
Baruch  knew  if  Ariella  slept  the  strange  sleep  of 
health,  or  ceased  the  long-familiar  moan  of  suf 
fering.  Baruch  watched  till  dawn ;  and  when 
dawn  came,  he  prayed. 

Ariella  awoke  quietly.  For  some  moments 
she  lay  still ;  the  old  expression  of  patience  set 
tled  upon  her  features ;  she  did  not  try  to  move. 
Rachel  watched  her  intently ;  Baruch  quivered 
without,  a  breathless  listener. 

"Rachel?"  called  Ariella.  « Rachel,  I  have 
slept.  It  is  good  to  be  within  your  walls.  Rest 
dwelleth  here.  I  know  not  when  I  have  slept 
such  sleep.  "Wilt  thou  come  hither  and  help  me, 
dear  Rachel,  and  bring  water  that  I  may  bathe 
my  face  and  cool  my  arms?  " 

"  There  is  water  in  the  inner  room,"  answered 
Rachel  nonchalantly,  "  and  fresh  linen  and  con 
veniences  suitable  for  a  guest.  Come  in  yonder 
with  me,  and  I  will  show  you  them." 


130  COME  FORTH. 

Ariella  stared  at  her  hostess  ;  her  large  eyes 
widened  with  hurt  surprise. 

"  Come  !  "  repeated  Eachel  in  a  firm,  motherly 
tone. 

"  Oh,  I  remember ! "  cried  Ariella.  "  I  remem 
ber  it  all.  I  have  put  my  feet  upon  the  ground. 
They  have  borne  my  weight.  I  have  walked. 
The  Nazarene  commanded  me,  and  I  obeyed.  I 
walked.  But  that  was  yesterday." 

"  And  this  is  to-day,"  replied  Rachel,  in  a 
comfortable  tone.  "  Arise,  Ariella.  Arise  and 
walk." 

Thus  came  to  Ariella  the  two  commands,  — 
that  of  the  divine  spirit  and  that  of  common 
life ;  and  they  took,  as  they  must  needs  do  to 
the  sick,  the  same  form,  even  the  same  language. 
Rachel  performed  no  wonder ;  she  used  her 
good  sense ;  which  told  her  that  many  a  wonder 
failed, —  whether  for  lack  of  wonder-working 
power  or  of  pluck  to  follow  it  up,  she  could  not 
say,  and  did  not  care.  The  point  was,  that 
Ariella  had  walked.  And  walk  she  must.  And 
verily,  walk  she  did. 

The  girl  arose  at  once.  She  tottered  for  a 
moment ;  then  struck  out  strongly  into  the  mid 
dle  of  the  room,  and  walked  firmly  into  the  ad 
joining  apartment.  The  linen  curtain  swayed 
and  fell,  and  hid  her.  Rachel  could  hear  the 
little  splash  of  the  cool  water  with  which  her 


COME  FORTH.  131 

young  guest  bathed.  She  did  not  offer  to  help 
her.  She  went  without  and  told  Baruch  that 
Ariella  was  as  well  as  other  people. 

As  soon  as  the  morning  meal  was  over,  Ariella 
started  for  her  father's  home.  While  yet  the 
cool  of  the  day  was  upon  Bethany,  the  little 
journey  would  be  more  fairly  made.  Ariella 
was  impatient  for  it.  Baruch  could  not  under 
stand  this ;  but  he  said  nothing  to  delay  her. 

The  girl  came  out  in  the  morning,  looking 
like  a  cloud,  or  a  bud,  or  a  dewdrop,  or  any 
lovely  thing  that  is  born  of  the  young  hour,  and 
belongs  to  it. 

Her  eyes  burned  with  excitement  compared 
to  which  the  fever  of  love  is  tame.  The  joy 
of  the  cured  invalid  has  no  similar  upon  this 
earth. 

Ariella  could  not  keep  still.  Her  feet  had 
wings.  Her  hair  seemed  electric  with  life,  and 
floated  about  her  on  whims  of  its  own.  Waves 
of  exquisite  color  ran  over  her  pale  face,  as  if 
learning  their  way  to  tint  her  cheek ;  then  they 
would  retreat  suddenly,  like  strangers.  Life 
came  to  her  lips;  they  curved  into  childlike 
smiles.  She  nodded  and  laughed  aloud  at  little 
things  like  a  little  girl.  She  ran  to  and  fro. 
She  called  and  sang.  She  was  absorbed ;  she 
was  intoxicated. 

It  was  a  hard  thing  to  Baruch  that  she  was  in 


132  COME  FORTH. 

such  a  hurry  to  get  away.  He  would  have  been 
glad  if  she  had  stayed,  or  had  even  wanted  to 
stay,  beside  them,  his  mother  and  himself,  for 
that  one  day,  —  that  first  day  of  her  delight. 
This  well  Ariella  he  did  not  understand.  The 
old  Ariella  was  gone.  In  her  place  what  had 
he? 

"  Is  it  possible,"  thought  the  blind  man,  "  that 
I  have  lost  her  ?  What  is  this  recovery  ?  Does 
it  cost  me  Ariella?" 

He  bowed  his  patient  head.  But  to  himself 
he  said :  — 

"  So  be  it,  if  so  be  that  Ariella  suffer  not. 
I  am  content.  I  have  had  my  will.  She  is 
healed."  Ariella  did  not  understand  the  thought 
of  Baruch.  She  meant  to  be  very  grateful  and 
loving  to  him.  But  health  and  joy  were  too  new 
to  Ariella,  —  they  dazzled  her.  She  could  see 
nothing  else.  To  be  sure,  she  said :  — 

"Baruch!  Dear  Baruch!  I  am  well.  I 
walk.  I  fly.  I  suffer  nothing.  Oh,  Baruch, 
what  do  I  owe  thee  ! " 

But  Baruch  answered  nothing.  He  felt  be 
reaved  of  Ariella. 

She  had  insisted  on  going  home  alone,  for 
some  whim  she  had  about  it.  But  Rachel  over 
ruled  her,  and  accompanied  the  maiden,  who 
yielded  carelessly.  What  difference  did  it  make  ? 
What  did  anything  matter  ?  She  could  walk. 


COME  FORTH.  133 

When  she  departed  from  the  house,  she  took 
the  hand  of  Baruch,  and  said  some  words  to 
him,  she  knew  not  what.  But  the  blind  man 
turned  away,  and  thought :  — 

"  She  hath  forgotten  me." 

Ariella  trod  the  roads  of  Bethany  like  a  spirit. 
Her  feet  did  not  seem  to  touch  the  ground. 
She  walked  on  air.  She  held  her  head  like  a 
bird.  She  wished  that  she  knew  everybody  she 
met,  and  could  call  out  and  say :  — 

"  Behold  me  !  I  am  Ariella.  I  am  well.  I 
walk." 

But  Ariella  knew  few  people ;  she  had  been 
a  prisoner  of  the  couch  so  long.  She  bounded 
along  uninterrupted.  Rachel  puffed  and  la 
bored,  but  could  not  keep  up  with  her.  It  was 
perhaps  half  a  mile  to  the  house  of  Malachi. 
Now  as  chance  had  it,  the  first  person  known  to 
Ariella,  whom  she  met  that  wonderful  morning, 
was  a  young  man  walking  slowly,  with  his  head 
bent  and  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"What  a  handsome  fellow!"  thought  the 
girl.  When  she  came  up  to  him  she  saw  that  it 
was  a  neighbor  unseen  of  her  for  a  long  time, 
but  well  enough  remembered.  In  fact  it  was 
Lazarus.  He  had  a  strange  expression.  His 
look  was  high  and  distant.  His  eyes  were 
radiant  and  full.  His  face  was  quite  pale. 
His  talith  was  wet  with  dew  and  crumpled,  as 


134  COME   FORTH. 

though  he  had  spent  the  night  without  upon 
the  ground.  The  decorous  citizen,  the  man  of 
proprieties  and  customs,  presented  an  unprece 
dented  appearance. 

Ariella  was  not  veiled.  She  had,  to  tell  the 
truth,  forgotten  all  about  it ;  veils,  not  being 
useful  in  the  sick-room,  were  without  her  in 
stincts,  which  were,  therefore,  natural.  Laz 
arus  turned  upon  Ariella  the  unseeing  eye  of 
him  who  has  not  slept  the  entire  night.  Rachel 
came  panting  up.  Then  Lazarus  said  slowly:  — 

"  Why,  Ariella !  —  Ariella  ?  " 

"It  is  indeed  Ariella,"  said  Rachel.  "Be 
hold  what  wonder  God  hath  wrought  upon  her." 

"I  walk  !  "  cried  Ariella.  "  I  fly  ;  behold  me. 
I  am  healed.  I  walk  from  the  house  of  Rachel 
to  the  house  of  my  father  —  I  —  Ariella !  " 

"  What  meaneth  this  ?  "  demanded  Lazarus, 
now  aroused  to  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the 
scene. 

"  The  Nazarene  bade  me,"  answered  Ariella 
more  quietly  than  she  had  yet  spoken  that 
morning ;  "  he  commanded,  and  I  do  walk." 

The  countenance  of  Lazarus  expressed  a  bat 
tle  of  emotions  as  Rachel,  in  defiance  of  Jewish 
conventionality,  —  for  such  a  thing  as  this  did 
not  happen  every  day,  and  the  proprieties  did,  — 
paused,  and  related  to  their  neighbor  what  had 
occurred.  If  Lazarus  had  ever  cherished  any 


COME  FORTH.  135 

reserved  opinions  about  the  reported  cures 
wrought  by  his  friend  and  Master,  —  and  it  is 
not  impossible,  for  the  strongest  of  powers  were 
tugging  at  the  faith  of  the  young  man,  —  the 
sight  of  Ariella  was  confounding  and  convincing. 
Ariella  he  knew,  and  her  piteous  fate.  What 
wonder  was  this?  Ariella  treading  the  streets 
of  Bethany  !  What  manner  of  man  was  he  who 
wrought  the  deed  ? 

Lazarus  congratulated  Ariella  cordially,  and 
hurried  away  from  her.  He  could  not  talk 
about  the  matter ;  his  brain  seethed  with  the 
crowding  impressions  of  the  last  twenty-four 
hours,  —  for  this  was  the  dawn  of  the  day 
succeeding  the  confession  of  Zahara.  Laza 
rus  had  spent  the  entire  night  wandering  over 
Olivet,  sleepless,  staggering,  drunken  with  rap 
ture.  On  that  solitary  mountain-top  now  sacred 
to  history,  where  the  most  devout  man  in  Judea 
too  often  exhausted  himself  with  nights  of 
prayer  and  with  the  fervor  of  consecration  to 
a  lonely  and  terrible  fate,  his  frailer  friend,  for 
love  of  a  woman,  kept  a  wild  and  fevered  watch. 

When  Lazarus  reached  home  that  morning  he 
learned  that  Jesus  had  spent  the  night  in  the 
house  of  Simon  the  Leper,  that  he  had  rested  in 
the  upper  chamber,  and  had  departed  at  dawn, 
before  the  morning  meal,  setting  his  face  to 
ward  Jerusalem. 


136  COME  FORTH. 

"  And  we  could  not  even  tell  him  where  you 
were,  Lazarus !  "  complained  Martha  coldly. 
"  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed  of  you." 

"  But  he  asked  no  questions,"  said  Mary 
gently.  "He  scarcely  made  mention  of  thy 
name,  my  brother."  Lazarus  bowed  his  head  in 
silence  ;  he  felt  helpless  before  his  own  nature. 
He  had  made  vows  enough.  He  did  not  say 
to  Mary  this  time,  "  I  will  see  the  Nazarene 
as  soon  as  possible."  He  made  haste  to  change 
the  subject  by  reporting  the  wonder  wrought 
on  Ariella.  But  far  from  changing,  this  only 
seemed  to  accentuate,  the  great  topic  upon  which 
in  this,  as  in  hundreds  of  Jewish  families  at 
that  time,  the  force  of  daily  interest  powerfully 
centred. 

"  He  that  can  put  Ariella  on  her  feet  is  a 
prophet,  verily  !  "  cried  Martha.  "  She  is  more 
care  to  her  mother  than  any  girl  in  Bethany." 
But  Mary's  eyes  shone  peacefully.  It  was  quite 
what  she  was  prepared  to  believe.  Why  be  so 
surprised  about  it  ?  "  Happy  Ariella  !  "  she 
whispered.  Mary  thought  it  might  be  worth 
nine  years  of  misery,  to  be  healed  as  Ariella 
was.  Martha  set  forth  at  once  to  the  house  of 
Malachi  to  gossip  about  the  news,  and  Laza 
rus  retired  to  his  own  portion  of  the  house.  He 
tried  to  sleep.  He  was  thoroughly  uncomfort 
able.  Two  faces,  like  statues  graven  from  his 


COME  FORTH.  137 

heart,  filled  the  silent,  shaded  room.  Zahara's 
was  the  one  ;  but  the  other  was  the  likeness  of 
the  Nazarene.  The  girl  seemed  to  regard  the 
Kabbi  haughtily.  But  he  looked  with  gentle 
dignity  at  Lazarus,  and  at  the  scowling  beauty. 

*'  I  am  torn  in  twain !  "  cried  Lazarus. 

Ariella  reached  home  in  wonderful  time.  No 
feet  in  Bethany  trod  that  half  mile  so  swiftly  on 
that  fair  morning.  Radiantly  swaying,  flying, 
flushed  and  beautiful,  the  girl  who  had  gone 
forth  borne  upon  the  litter,  moaning  with  pain, 
ran  up  the  slope,  and  flashed  into  the  door  of 
her  father's  home. 

Hagaar  threw  down  the  dish  in  which  she 
was  preparing  leavened  bread,  and  shrieked 
mightily. 

"  A  spirit !  A  spirit !  Malachi,  come  hither ! 
Ariella  is  dead,  and  her  spirit  is  running  about 
the  house  !  " 

"  I  '11  teach  her  better  manners,  then  ! " 
growled  Malachi,  who  came  lumbering  in  with 
his  fists  clenched.  Malachi  was  one  of  the  peo 
ple  who  do  not  believe  in  ghosts,  and  are  afraid 
of  them  accordingly. 

Panting  behind  the  girl  came  Rachel,  and 
up  the  street  Martha  hurried  as  fast  as  the  dig 
nity  of  a  wealthy  widow  permitted.  Other 
neighbors  had  by  this  time  learned  the  news, 
and  a  little  crowd  might  be  seen  gathering,  mov 
ing  toward  the  house. 


138  COME  FORTH. 

"  I  walk  !  "  cried  Ariella.  "  I  run.  The 
Nazarene  commanded,  and  I  fly.  Kiss  me,  O 
my  mother  !  Bless  me,  father,  for  I  am  like 
other  girls." 

"  Wouldst  thou  believe  it?  "  demanded  Ra 
chel,  with  holy  indignation,  when  she  came  home 
to  tell  the  tale  to  Baruch.  "  What  thinkest 
thou  of  such  a  father  ?  Malachi  swore  a  great 
oath,  and  vowed  by  Jehovah  that  the  girl  did 
make  sport  of  them,  and  might  have  walked  any 
day  if  she  had  wanted  to." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  the  blind  man. 

44  And  more  than  that  is  possible,"  continued 
Rachel,  "  for  when  he  was  forced  to  perceive  that 
the  wonder  had  come  upon  Ariella,  he  fell  with 
a  mighty  rage.  He  let  loose  the  vials  of  his 
wrath  upon  me  for  stealing  his  daughter  —  so 
he  said  — from  her  shelter  in  her  father's  house  ; 
and  upon  thee  for  the  trick,  he  called  it,  thou 
didst  play  upon  him.  '  The  impostor  hath  be 
witched  the  girl ! '  he  shouted  to  the  neighbors. 
'  Go  ye  to  your  homes,  disperse,  and  trouble  an 
afflicted  house  no  more.  Leave  us  alone  in  our 
disgrace,'  said  Malachi.  But  Hagaar  said  "  — 

"  What  said  the  mother  of  the  maiden  ? " 
asked  Baruch,  in  the  greatest  distress. 

"  Hagaar  did  go  up  to  her  husband  and  seize 
him  as  if  he  had  been  a  rebellious  little  boy. 
Before  all  the  neighbors,  the  wife  of  Malachi 


COME  FORTH.  139 

the  Pharisee  did  shake  her  husband  to  and  fro. 
And  she  did  clutch  his  beard  and  pulled  upon  it 
so  he  was  fain  to  utter  a  yell  of  pain ;  and  she 
took  the  courage  of  a  man  upon  her  woman's 
lips,  and  she  did  say,  —  and  a  noise  she  made  in 
saying  it,  I  testify,  —  '  Malachi,  all  these  years 
thou  hast  been  lord  unto  me,  and  I  have  served 
thee  as  thine  handmaid  ;  but  now  thou  shalt  not 
lord  me,  for  I  am  a  woman,  and  the  mother  of 
the  maiden,  and  I  say,  Look  upon  her !  Look 
upon  her  !  She  is  like  other  girls  —  poor  Ari- 
ella  —  walking  about  !  —  and  he  that  is  her 
father,  and  does  not  bless  God  for  the  sight  of 
her  to-day,  he  deserveth  to  be  crucified  ! '  And 
Martha,  in  a  stately  voice,  cried,  '  Amen.'  And 
all  the  neighbors  did  say,  '  Amen.'  And  Mala 
chi  was  ashamed ;  but  he  was  the  more  wroth 
insomuch  as  he  vms  ashamed,  and  he  turned 
him  about,  and  cried  aloud,  4Ye  shall  see  her  on 
her  couch  again,  ye  people  of  Bethany,  for  all 
this  pretender  pretendeth  !  Look  ye  to  it !  Ye 
shall  see  if  Ariella  riseth  and  goeth  about  to 
morrow  ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  horrible  !  "  cried  Baruch.  "  What  did 
she  say  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  said,  '  Shame  on  you,  my  hus 
band  !'  And"  — 

"What  did  Ariella  say?"  interrupted  Baruch. 

"  Naught,"  said  Rachel,  —  "  naught.     She  did 


140  COME  FORTH. 

turn  as  pale  as  the  dead,  and  quail  before  her 
father.  And  fiagaar,  her  mother,  enveloped 
the  girl  in  her  &rms,  and  shielded  her,  and  all 
the  people  cried  out  upon  Malachi." 

"  Poor  lamb,"  moaned  Baruch.  "  Poor  qui 
vering  little  lamb ! " 

"  Well,  if  she  be  a  lamb,  Hagaar  is  a  consid 
erable  sheep,"  said  Rachel  dryly.  "  Thou  mayest 
trust  the  woman  with  her  young,  my  son.  Then 
is  she  a  mighty  power.  As  for  Malachi,  verily 
I  believe  he  would  rather  tie  the  girl  upon  her 
bed  than  to  permit  the  Nazarene  to  cure  her." 

Baruch  replied  with  an  inarticulate  sound  of 
distress. 

"  And  Lazarus  said  "   —  continued  Rachel. 

"  When  sawest  thou  Lazarus?  "  demanded  Ba 
ruch  quickly. 

Rachel  related  the  details  of  the  meeting  be 
tween  Lazarus  and  Ariella  on  the  way  to  the 
house  of  Malachi. 

The  blind  man  turned  away.  His  face  fell, 
but  his  lips  were  silent.  Lazarus  could  see. 

And  Ariella,  in  the  excitement  of  the  wild 
scene  at  home,  had  omitted  to  send  any  message 
back  to  Baruch  by  his  mother.  Baruch  went 
away,  and  sat  under  the  olive-tree,  alone  and 
patient. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  relation  of  Lazarus  to  the  Nazarene  had 
been  always  peculiar.  No  other  person  among 
the  friends  of  the  Rabbi  had  a  similar  experi 
ence.  The  acquaintance  of  the  two  had  begun 
on  this  wise. 

Lazarus  had  a  contract  for  some  fine  carving 
upon  a  portion  of  the  Temple,  —  that  always 
growing  and  never  completed  pride  and  glory  of 
the  Jews,  upon  which  ten  thousand  men  worked 
for  over  forty  years,  and  in  which  there  always 
remained  the  next  touch  possible  to  the  patient 
artist  of  a  beautiful  thing. 

Lazarus  needed  for  his  purpose  some  special 
carpentering  of  a  high  order  of  skill ;  and,  being 
a  conscientious  workman,  sought  for  some  time 
the  hand  required.  There  was  finally  recom 
mended  to  him  a  young  man,  bearing  the  very 
common  name  of  Jesus,  a  resident  of  a  low,  un 
popular  locality  known  as  Nazareth.  This  per 
son,  it  was  said,  exhibited  a  skill  beyond  his 
fellows,  executing  work  of  a  fine  degree.  Laz 
arus  found  him,  and  set  him  to  work  in  the 
Sacred  Building.  This  might  have  been  five  or 


142  COME   FORTH. 

six  years  before  the  time  of  our  story.  The 
young  man  performed  his  task  with  a  skill  and 
effect  unknown  to  the  experience  of  the  builder 
with  any  common  workman. 

"  Verily  thy  tools  fly  to  do  thy  bidding," 
said  the  employer  to  the  employee,  one  day, 
when  he  had  stood  silently  watching  the  Naza- 
rene  for  a  long  while.  Jesus  laid  down  the  tool 
in  his  hand,  and  regarded  the  builder  with  a 
strange  look.  He  replied  that  this  might  be 
possible.  Lazarus,  in  amazement,  inquired  the 
meaning  of  these  words.  The  young  man  made 
further  answer  to  the  effect  that  many  things  un 
known  and  un wrought  were  possible,  for  which 
the  times  and  the  hearts  of  men  were  not  ripe. 

"  I  comprehend  thee  not,"  said  Lazarus. 

The  carpenter  was  silent. 

"But  I  do  desire  it,"  continued  the  builder. 
"  I  perceive  that  thou  art  a  high-minded  man, 
occupied  with  thoughts,  not  pleasure.  Thou 
hast  reflected  more  than  I.  I  would  hear  this 
explained,  if  thou  thinkest  me  worthy  of  thy 
confidence,"  added  Lazarus,  with  the  modesty 
of  a  truly  delicate  nature,  capable  of  recog 
nizing  its  superior  in  an  inferior  social  posi 
tion. 

The  young  workman  responded  quietly  to  this 
tribute,  which  seemed  neither  to  elate  nor  to 
surprise  him. 


COME  FORTH.  143 

"  Thy  touch  is  not  the  touch  of  a  mechanic," 
said  Lazarus  uncomfortably.  "Yet  had  I  de 
pended  on  thee  to  complete  this  service  in  the 
Temple  "  - 

He  felt  embarrassed  before  his  carpenter,  as 
if  he  had  given  a  servant's  commission  to  a 
niagian  in  disguise. 

"  Behold,"  said  the  Nazarene,  quietly  resum 
ing  his  own  work.  "Now  do  I  follow  thee. 
The  time  cometh  when  thou  shalt  follow  me." 

While  they  were  conversing  on  this  wise,  it 
chanced  that  Lazarus  made  an  awkward  slip 
with  his  hand  against  the  tool,  and  it  cut  him 
heavily,  entering  the  artery  in  the  wrist.  The 
blood  flowed  abundantly,  and  the  injury  had  a 
serious  look.  The  Nazarene  uttered  an  exclama 
tion  of  sympathy,  and,  clasping  the  wound  in  his 
own  sensitive  hand,  held  it  firmly,  and  bowed 
his  head  over  it,  murmuring  to  himself  gently 
as  he  did  this. 

"  What  sayest  thou  ? "  asked  Lazarus  un 
easily. 

But  Jesus  made  him  no  reply. 

"  Unclasp  thy  hand  from  me,  that  I  may  seek 
some  remedy  or  physician  for  my  hurt,"  urged 
Lazarus,  "  for  methinks  it  is  a  considerable 
one." 

The  young  carpenter  obeyed  silently.  And 
when  he  had  unclasped  his  hand  from  the 


144  COME  FORTH. 

wound,  lo !  it  was  healed  beneath  his  touch. 
And  he  said  to  the  wounded  builder :  — 

"  See  thou  tell  110  man.  Speak  not  of  these 
things  ;  for  the  time  is  not  ready  for  it."  The 
two  young  men  looked  each  other  solemnly  in 
the  eye. 

"  What  art  thou  ?  "  demanded  Lazarus,  paling. 

But  Jesus  made  him  no  reply. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  persisted  Lazarus. 

"  Time  will  teach  thee,"  answered  the  other. 

From  this  hour  a  friendship  sprang  between 
the  two  young  men.  It  was  closely  felt  rather 
than  closely  cultivated  ;  for  their  ways  led  them 
apart.  Lazarus  remained  true  to  the  confi 
dence  of  the  Nazarene :  he  made  mention  of  it 
to  no  person  from  that  time  forth  ;  in  fact,  even 
between  themselves,  as  is  the  way  of  reserved 
men,  the  wonder  was  never  again  discussed. 

Lazarus  regarded  that  incident  in  the  Temple 
with  a  certain  awe  ;  but  his  mind  never  insisted 
on  an  explanation  of  the  phenomenon.  The 
Oriental  accepts  mystery  naturally ;  Lazarus 
was  not  ignorant  of  the  marvels  of  his  country, 
but  in  anything  of  this  nature  he  was  totally 
inexperienced.  He  never  forgot  it.  In  later 
years,  when  the  Nazarene  grew  into  his  tremen 
dous  popularity  as  a  traveling  Rabbi  ;  when  the 
wonders  that  he  wrought  were  brought  as  a  tale 
that  is  told  almost  every  week  to  the  ears  of 


COME  FORTH.  145 

Lazarus,  that  little  scene  in  the  Temple  came 
back  to  him  significantly.  Probably  it  had 
prepared  the  prosperous,  busy  young  Jew  the 
more  seriously  to  consider  the  awful  claims  of 
his  friend  when  the  time  came  that  these  were 
presented  to  Jewish  society. 

During  the  public  career  of  the  Nazarene,  the 
two  had  met,  but  less  often  than  had  been  ex 
pected.  Both  men  were  absorbingly  busy,  and 
in  divergent  ways.  A  strong  tenderness,  how 
ever,  remained  ripe  between  them.  It  had  been 
the  pleasure  of  Lazarus  boldly  to  entertain  Jesus 
at  his  house  as  often  as  possible ;  yet  it  was 
not  very  often.  Lazarus  had  shown  no  pusil 
lanimity  in  this  matter.  When  the  muttering 
began  which  menaced  the  usefulness,  and  was 
doomed  to  threaten  the  very  life,  of  the  young 
religious  teacher  ;  when  Sanhedrim  and  Court, 
Priest  and  Pharisee,  marked  the  most  spiritual 
man  in  Judea  with  their  dangerous  displeasure, 
the  rich  and  influential  citizen  remained  loyal  to 
his  early  affection  for  the  poor  itinerant.  Laza 
rus  had  been  hospitable  and  affectionate  to  Jesus. 
He  called  himself  true.  Up  to  this  time  he  had 
been  as  attentive  to  his  friend  as  circumstance 
permitted. 

Now,  to  him  as  to  thousands  of  live  young 
natures,  this  had  happened :  the  sea  of  love  had 
overwhelmed  him,  and  in  it  friendship  was  afloat 
or  drowning,  struggling  for  dear  life. 


146  COME  FORTH. 

The  final  evening  at  the  palace  instituted  a 
duel  of  rapture  and  despair  in  the  soul  of  Laza 
rus.  At  first,  delight  dominated.  Zahara  loved 
him.  Heaven  and  earth  could  not  change  that. 
But  when  the  next  day  wore  on,  and  the  next, 
and  another,  and  the  barricade  of  circumstances 
between  himself  and  the  High  priest's  daughter 
took  on  the  full  strength  of  common  reality, 
Lazarus  succumbed  to  his  misery.  The  work 
was  done.  There  was  now  no  excuse  for  going 
to  the  palace ;  there  was  now  no  opportunity 
to  go  to  the  palace.  There  was,  therefore,  no 
Zahara. 

What  could  the  lover  do?  To  advance  like  a 
man,  and  woo  the  maiden  of  her  father,  was  im 
possible.  The  High  priest  gave  no  daughter  to 
a  carpenter.  A  suspicion  of  the  truth  would  be 
fatal  to  everything.  Annas  was  quite  capable 
of  sending  his  daughter  on  a  visit  to  Egypt, 
Rome,  or  wherever,  beyond  the  reach  of  an 
ineligible  lover;  for  Zahara,  his  youngest  and 
dearest,  was  now  the  only  child  left  in  the  old 
priest's  home.  He  might  be  capable  of  designs 
upon  the  lover,  —  who  knew  ?  Lazarus  was  a 
man  of  the  world,  of  his  little  world  at  least, 
and  he  shrewdly  estimated  the  character  of  An 
nas  ;  a  man  at  once  attractive  and  repellent, 
good-natured  and  cold,  frank  and  scheming,  af 
fectionate  and  relentless.  If  a  love  affair  in  his 


COME  FORTH.  147 

household  got  beyond  his  indolent  observation, 
nothing  would  be  easier  than  for  Annas  to  atone 
for  a  little  negligence  by  extreme  measures.  In 
the  state  of  society  then  existing  in  Judea,  the 
power  of  a  dignitary  like  Annas  was  uncon 
trolled  and  dangerous.  What  he  did  would  not 
be  questioned,  and  what  he  chose  would  be  ef 
fected.  The  disposal  of  an  objectionable  person 
would  be  made  as  comfortable  as  possible  for 
the  disposer  :  methods  would  not  matter.  What 
would  the  disappearance  of  a  builder  signify  ? 

Lazarus  fully  realized  his  position.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  hopeless  one ;  but  youth  and  love  are 
eager,  and  despair  uncomfortable.  Lazarus 
found  in  himself  interludes  of  perfectly  unrea 
sonable  hope. 

During  these  he  haunted  the  region  of  the 
palace,  drawing  as  near  as  he  dared  without  de 
tection.  He  never  saw  her ;  not  once.  He 
watched  for  her  litter  in  the  streets.  He  min 
gled  with  people,  and  listened  to  the  gossip  about 
the  movements  of  her  father.  He  neglected  his 
business  ;  he  eat  little  ;  he  slept  less.  One  day, 
after  a  long  tramp  over  the  mountain  and  up  to 
its  top,  whence  he  could  look  down  upon  the 
palace  of  the  High  priest,  when  Lazarus  turned 
to  go  home  it  was  nearly  high  noon,  and  he  felt 
the  vengeance  of  the  sun  upon  his  head.  He 
grew  blind  and  dizzy  ;  and  looking  abroad  for 


148  COME  FORTH. 

the  familiar  outline  of  the  scenery  in  the  valley, 
suddenly  he  could  see  nothing,  and  a  faintuess 
seized  him. 

"There  floweth  the  brook  Kidron,"  thought 
Lazarus,  "  and  yonder  should  be  the  palace,  and 
there  must  be  the  house  of  Simon  the  Leper.  I 
am  not  well.  I  have  walked  too  far.  I  cannot 
distinguish  objects.  My  head  hath  a  singular 
sense  of  heat  and  pain.  I  must  rest  me,  and 
shield  me  beneath  the  first  spot  of  shade  that  I 
can  reach.  Verily,  I  am  over-worn." 

Now  with  these  thoughts  half  muttering  upon 
his  parched  lips,  the  young  man  sank  to  the 
ground.  The  full  power  of  the  sun  scorched  his 
brain  and  body ;  and  he  became  unconscious 
where  he  lay,  a  prone  and  helpless  figure,  face 
down,  upon  the  hot  side  of  Olivet. 

There  was  a  little  garden  near  him,  toward 
which  Lazarus  had  been  struggling.  It  was  the 
property  of  a  friend  of  his,  a  spot  of  rich 
foliage,  thick  and  cool,  —  a  pleasant,  secluded 
place.  It  went  by  the  name  of  Gethsemane. 

Lazarus  fainted  just  without  the  walls  of  this 
garden,  —  if  we  should  call  it  a  faint ;  his  con 
dition  had  too  many  causes,  and  was  too  serious 
to  be  lightly  named.  He  remained  unconscious 
for  a  long  time. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  the  grateful  sense 
of  shadow  overhung  him.  The  deadly  sun  was 


COME  FORTH.  149 

quite  shielded  away  from  his  burning  head. 
Olive-trees  folded  their  massive  shelter,  a  green 
and  graceful  tent,  above  him  ;  the  slender  out 
line  of  the  long  leaves  quivered  on  the  edge  of 
a  bough  against  a  fiery  sky ;  the  gray  tints  of 
the  under  leaf  added  to  the  impression  that  the 
olive  was  a  cool  tree.  A  soft  air  played,  like 
unseen  fingers,  upon  these  delicate  leaves.  The 
scents  of  richly  cultivated  fruits  and  flowers  met 
in  a  pleasant,  nondescript  perfume,  which  was 
probably  as  intelligible  to  the  stricken  man  as  it 
would  have  been  at  any  time ;  for  Lazarus  had 
handled  too  many  tools  to  be  familiar  with 
flowers.  It  was  Zahara  he  cared  for,  not  the 
lily.  He  turned  his  eyes  idly  about  the  familiar, 
gorgeous  garden.  He  was  quite  alone.  He 
recognized  the  spot  immediately,  and  the  fact 
that  unknown  hands  had  brought  him  thither. 

But  whose  ?     And  where  were  they  ? 

"  Amos  ?  "  called  Lazarus  faintly,  naming  the 
name  of  his  friend.  There  was  no  answer  to 
the  call,  and  Lazarus  repeated  it  several  times 
before  the  proprietor  of  the  garden  appeared. 
When  he  did  so,  he  came  leisurely  through  the 
fig-trees,  walking  with  the  comfortable  step  of 
a  well-to-do  man  of  agricultural  temperament. 
He  was  a  middle-aged,  thoughtful  Jew,  a  person 
of  some  social  importance,  and  deeply  in  sympa 
thy  with  the  religious  movement  in  which  Laz 
arus  had  been  of  late  a  delinquent. 


150  COME  FORTH. 

"  Ah,  there  thou  art,"  said  Amos.  "  I  left 
thee  to  sleep  it  out.  Thou  hast  had  a  bad  time 
of  it,  Lazarus,  and  verily  thou  hast  escaped  a 
worse." 

"  What  aileth  me  ?  "  demanded  Lazarus  feebly. 

"  A  stroke  of  the  sun,  and  nothing  less,"  said 
Amos  shortly.  "  I  wonder  not.  How  earnest 
thou  on  the  top  of  Olivet  at  noon  of  a  day  like 
this?" 

"  I  meant  to  get  home,"  murmured  Lazarus. 
"I  forgot  myself." 

"  Meant !  Forgot !  "  cried  Amos.  "  These 
are  pretty  words  for  a  busy,  sensible  fellow.  I 
know  thee  not,  Lazarus,  in  these  days ;  I  under 
stand  thee  not." 

"  Nor  I  myself,"  replied  Lazarus  faintly.  He 
really  felt  too  ill  to  be  scolded.  But  Amos  took 
the  opportunity  to  hit  his  friend  while  he  was 
down ;  it  is  a  very  old  custom,  as  old  as  friend 
ship. 

"  So  it  was  thou  that  broughtest  me  hither," 
said  Lazarus.  "I  thank  thee,  Amos.  In  fact  I 
think  I  was  hard  bestead.  But  how  didst  thou 
manage  it  ?  I  am  a  heavy  fellow." 

"  In  faith  I  did  not  manage  it  at  all,"  replied 
Amos.  "  It  was  not  I,  Lazarus,  who  brought 
thee  here  to  Gethsemane." 

"  Who  then  ? "  cried  Lazarus,  starting  from 
the  ground,  and  staring  about  the  garden. 
"  Where  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  " 


COME  FORTH.  151 

"  He  who  took  that  burden  upon  himself  hath 
departed  from  thee,"  said  Amos  gravely.  "  He 
watched  thee  till  the  signs  of  consciousness  ap 
peared.  He  did  watch  thee,  and  minister  to 
thee  as  man  doth  not  minister  to  man  except  he 
loveth  him.  When  thou  didst  move,  and  sum 
mon  thy  senses  back  to  thy  countenance,  he 
arose  and  went  his  way.  '  I  go/  he  said  ;  *  stay 
me  not.  I  go  before  he  waketh.'  But  he  com 
mended  thee  to  me  and  to  my  tenderness  in 
words  that  would  have  wrung  thy  heart ;  and 
he  did  bless  thee,  Lazarus,  and  departed  from 
thee." 

"  Tell  me  his  name,"  demanded  Lazarus. 
"Who  did  so  serve  me,  and  so  depart  from 
ine?" 

"I  name  thee  no  names,"  replied  the  pro 
prietor  of  Gethsemane  severely.  "  Thou  askest, 
verily,  a  flippant  question,  Lazarus,  to  my  think 
ing.  Who  would  he  be?  Who  must  he  be? 
What  man  is  he  who  climbeth  Olivet,  —  not  on 
fool's  business  like  thine  own,  but  on  awful 
errands  with  his  God  ?  Who  seeketh  this  my 
garden  and  spendeth  whole  nights  herein  that 
he  may  pray  here  ?  What  man  is  he  who  seeth 
a  sufferer  upon  the  wayside  afar  off,  and  suc- 
coreth  him,  and  hath  saved  him  before  the  eye 
of  any  other  man  hath  so  much  as  attended  to 
his  calamity  ?  What  man  is  he  who  beareth 


152  COME  FORTH. 

with  the  coldness  of  a  friend  and  forgiveth  it 
unto  him,  and  guardeth  him,  and  shieldeth  him, 
and  overwhelmeth  him  with  tenderness,  and  will 
not  obtrude  his  presence  to  receive  from  obli 
gation  that  which  love  did  not  offer  ?  Is  there 
more  than  one  man  in  Judea  builded  after  this 
manner,  Lazarus  ?  " 

And  Lazarus  was  silent  before  Amos.  For 
he  knew  that  there  was  no  man  but  one  who 
would  have  served  him  and  saved  him  as  he  had 
been  served  and  saved. 

"  When  thou  seest  the  Nazarene  "  —  began 
Lazarus,  with  emotion. 

"  When  thou  seest  him,"  interrupted  Amos, 
"thou  canst  speak  for  thyself.  In  truth,  it 
occurreth  to  me  that  between  himself  and  thee 
no  third  man  should  intermeddle." 

"  Thou  art  right,  Amos,"  said  Lazarus  rever 
ently.  "  I  shall  soon  have  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  with  him." 

"  Love  maketh  its  opportunities,"  replied 
Amos.  So  blindfold,  so  hand-bound,  is  friend 
ship !  This  was  the  most  unfortunate  thing 
which  Amos  could  have  said.  His  words  swung 
the  mind  of  Lazarus  hotly  in  the  last  direction 
in  which,  at  that  moment,  it  should  have  turned. 
Love  —  opportunity  —  Zahara !  A  mob  of 
maddening  images  possessed  the  lover's  fevered 
brain.  He  longed  to  get  away  alone,  that  he 


COME  FORTH.  153 

might  gloat  upon  them.  The  respectable  Amos, 
the  decorous  garden,  seemed  phantoms  of  the 
sunstroke ;  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  gentle  appari 
tion. 

Only  Zahara  was  too  real  to  be  thrust  out  of 
the  sensibility  of  Lazarus  by  any  interruption  of 
feeling.  Zahara  dominated  his  being,  a  splendid 
force,  as  the  sun  of  the  East  had  smitten  him  to 
the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT  was  sunset  at  Capernaum.  The  lake  was 
quite  smooth.  She  carried  a  broad  sheen  of 
colors  upon  her  quiet  face,  and  looked  more  like 
a  huge  tinted  sail  spread  to  dry  among  the  hills 
than  the  vixen  sea  she  was.  Capernaum  was  a 
thriving  place,  being  on  the  highroad  from 
Damascus  to  the  South,  and  gay  with  travelers 
and  summer  residents.  It  was  the  favorite  wa 
tering-place  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  sun-smitten 
country  round  it  was  a  picturesque  place,  with 
effective  houses  built  of  black  and  white  stones, 
and  a  caressing  scenery  decorated  and  tapestried 
with  myrtle,  rock-rose,  tamarisk,  and  acacia.  In 
fact,  Capernaum  had  many  of  those  points 
appreciated  by  wealthy  people  in  search  of  sum 
mer  houses,  and,  when  united  to  a  lake-breeze, 
liberally  paid  for. 

Upon  the  heights  at  the  northwest  end  of  the 
town  stood  one  stately  villa  conspicuous  for  its 
elegance.  The  stones  which  composed  it  were 
of  white  and  rose,  outlined  with  black  upon  the 
facade  :  the  architecture  was  inspiring  if  not 
imposing,  the  grounds  extensive  and  liberally 


COME  FORTH.  155 

cultivated,  and  the  whole  place  had  the  unmis 
takable  air  of  un  grand  Seigneur. 

Walking  in  the  fruit-garden  at  the  cool  of  the 
day,  like  the  Almighty  after  creation,  an  old 
man  viewed  his  country-seat  with  elderly  and 
opulent  satisfaction.  His  venerable  beard  flowed 
to  his  breast.  His  important  costume  had  a 
dignity  of  its  own.  His  well-kept,  not  to  say 
well-fed,  hand  fatly  took  on  the  gesture  of  ben 
ediction  as  he  moved  among  his  family  and 
slaves.  His  comfortable  eye  wandered  over  the 
hills  and  the  sea  to  return  easily  to  the  little 
horizon  of  his  villa,  which  he  regarded  with  the 
supreme  complacency  of  wealth  and  position 
and  ease  from  affairs.  It  was  known  in  Jerusa 
lem  that  the  High  priest  was  at  home  at  his 
country-seat  in  Capernaum  for  a  matter  of  some 
weeks. 

Upon  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  at  that  calm  and 
alluring  hour,  a  dainty,  painted  shallop,  rowed 
by  slaves  and  well  filled  with  women,  attracted 
much  attention.  Gennesaret  was  crowded  with 
sails.  She  always  was.  But  this  sultry  and 
silent  evening  had  added  the  pleasure-seekers  to 
the  bread-seekers,  the  summer  guests  to  the  fish 
ermen. 

The  little  fleet  was  so  great  that  boats  became 
entangled  at  the  landings  and  beaches,  and  had 
there  been  a  breeze,  skillful  steering  would  have 


156  COME  FORTH. 

been  needed  to  avoid  collision  in  sailing.  But 
of  breeze  there  was  hardly  enough  to  stir  the 
pretty  toys  of  the  pleasure-people,  or  the  clum 
sier  wings  of  the  fishing-boats.  One  floated, 
that  evening,  drifted,  idled,  dreamed,  but  did 
not  expect  to  sail. 

The  lady,    mistress    of    the    gay  shallop,  — 
which,  by  the  way,  bore  a  purple  sail,  and  was 
tied  or  trimmed  with  golden  ropes,  —  sat  among 
her  maidens  haughtily.     She  seemed  dissatisfied 
and  distraite. 

"  It  is  a  dull  place,  this  Capernaum,"  she 
said.  "  Why  did  we  come,  Eebecca  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  livelier  when  the  new  wing  is 
added  to  the  villa,"  replied  Rebecca. 

"  That  does  not  follow,"  said  Zahara  indiffer 
ently.  "  Who  buildeth  the  wing  ?  My  father 
hath  omitted  to  mention  to  me.  It  should  be 
decently  done,  at  least,  if  we  have  to  spend  the 
winter  here." 

But  Rebecca  did  not  know  who  should  build 
the  wing.  She  understood  that  he  who  did  re 
pair  the  palace  at  home  had  other  engagements, 
and  was  not  expected ;  but  that  the  work  should 
be  begun  at  once  by  somebody,  the  damsel  knew, 
for  behold  the  tents  of  the  workmen,  erected 
yonder  on  the  hill.  They  had  arisen  since  the 
spring  of  to-day's  sun,  said  Rebecca. 

"  It    does    not   matter,"    said   Zahara.     She 


COME  FORTH.  157 

looked  idly  at  the  little  group  of  tents  which 
Rebecca  pointed  out  behind  the  villa  of  Annas. 
The  shining  water  lay  between.  Zahara  glanced 
across  it,  and  then  gazed  into  it.  Her  brilliant 
face  had  a  subdued,  gentle  expression.  Life 
seemed  unimportant  to  the  High  priest's  daugh 
ter.  For  the  first  time  in  her  history,  Zahara 
was  sad. 

"  It  is  a  stupid  sea,"  said  Zahara,  "  and  what 
a  stupid  boat !  One  might  as  well  go  home  and 
take  a  nap  on  a  prayer-rug.  Bid  the  fellows 
take  the  oars,  for  we  shall  drift  all  night.  Get 
out  the  oars,  and  have  me  rowed  across  to  the 
other  shore.  I  desire  to  see  a  new  ripple,  if 
nothing  more  is  possible,  in  this  town  where 
nothing  happens." 

At  the  moment  when  this  order  was  given, 
and  the  rowers  of  the  lady's  boat  took  to  their 
oars,  and  made  a  marked  course  away  from  the 
rest  of  the  pleasure-fleet  heading  across  the  lake, 
a  young  man  came  out  of  one  of  the  tents  which 
Rebecca  had  pointed  out  to  her  mistress  and 
walked  rapidly  down  to  the  beach.  His  eyes 
were  on  the  water,  but  no  special  interest  in 
anything  he  saw  appeared  upon  his  countenance 
until  by  chance  he  overheard  a  bystander  ob 
serve  carelessly  :  — 

"The  daughter  of  Annas  saileth  to-night. 
Yonder  is  her  shalfcp." 


158  COME  FORTH. 

"  Ah !  "  cried  the  young  man,  stopping  short, 
"  which  one  ?  Yes.  I  see.  The  sail  is  a  sail 
of  purple.  Is  that  the  lady's  shallop  ?  " 

"  Verily,  yes,"  said  the  bystander ;  "  she  goeth 
to  the  opposite  shore.  She  is  rowed  by  the 
slaves  of  her  father." 

The  young  man  bowed  and  passed  on.  His 
eyes  now  sought  the  water  as  a  king  corn- 
man  deth  the  world.  His  face  had  grown  vivid 
and  beautiful.  His  lips  moved  tenderly  under 
neath  his  bright  beard.  His  eyes  melted.  He 
breathed,  but  did  not  articulate  the  word :  — 

"Zahara!" 

Now  Annas  was  a  cautious  man,  not  accus 
tomed  to  make  known  his  purposes  to  the  wo 
men  of  his  household,  and  Rebecca  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  the  master  builder, 
Lazarus,  had  accepted  the  job  upon  the  villa, 
and  would  himself  oversee  it,  having  quartered 
his  men  in  tents  upon  the  hillside,  and  taken 
lodgings  for  himself  at  the  khan,  or  village  inn. 

Lazarus  had  done  this  with  precipitation,  al 
most  without  reflection.  When  the  summons 
came  from  Annas,  whose  fancy  had  lightly  for 
gotten  the  proposed  repairs  at  the  palace,  and 
substituted  others  in  his  villa  with  the  facile 
absorption  of  a  man  in  his  country-seat,  the 
builder  had  responded  with  such  promptness 
that  the  High  priest  took  quick  advantage  of 


COME  FORTH.  159 

the  situation  to  beat  him  down  to  an  easy  price. 
Lazarus  accepted  it  without  protest,  almost 
without  consciousness  that  he,  the  first  master- 
builder  in  the  vicinity  of  Jerusalem,  was  under 
bidding  the  trade  to  the  point  of  absurdity,  one 
might  almost  say  of  indecency.  What  could  it 
matter?  Lazarus  would  have  given  Annas  a 
villa  to  be  at  Capernaum  just  then. 

On  this  evening,  as  he  walked  nervously  up 
and  down  the  strand,  following  the  sail  of  Za- 
hara,  he  observed  a  man  stop  and  watch  the 
same  with  something  more  than  casual  atten 
tion.  The  man  was  a  fisherman.  He  cast  the 
deep  and  always  grave  eye  of  his  calling  upon 
the  sea.  "  I  hope  those  fellows  will  not  row  the 
women  too  far,"  he  said ;  "  we  are  to  have  a 
change  in  the  wind." 

Then  Lazarus  perceived  that  he  knew  the 
man,  and  spoke  to  him. 

"I  salute  yon,  Peter.  Tell  me.  The  lady 
yonder  is  not  likely  to  get  into  any  trouble,  is 
she?" 

"Lazarus,  I  salute  you.  Your  face  is  a 
stranger  of  late  to  me.  As  to  the  lady,  all  I 
can  say  is,  that  these  pleasure-boats  are  poor 
affairs.  It  is  a  singular  thing  to  me  that  the 
richer  a  man  is  the  more  doth  he  tempt  danger 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  Never  yet  did  I 
know  property  to  supply  mariners'  sense." 


160  COME  FORTH. 

With  these  words  Peter  passed  on,  for  he  was 
a  busy  man.  Peter  was  now  at  home  for  a  few 
days,  and  had  fish  to  get  to  market.  But  Laza 
rus  had  Zahara  in  a  crazy  little  boat.  The 
two  men  parted,  as  unconscious  of  each  other's 
thoughts,  almost  as  indifferent  to  them,  as  if 
they  had  been  separate  and  divergent  planets 
swinging  in  space,  neither  knowing  that  the  time 
and  the  topic  were  to  come  upon  which  their 
natures  would  beat  as  one  pulse,  and  that  a 
throbbing  artery. 

Peter  the  fisherman  had  hardly  turned  the 
curve  of  the  beach  toward  the  town,  when  a  light 
breeze  tickled  the  surface  of  the  lake,  as  fingers 
play  with  sensitive  flesh.  The  water  seemed  to 
shrink  and  writhe  a  little  playfully.  Then  a 
sound  like  a  slight,  protesting  laugh  whirred 
across  from  shore  to  shore.  This  was  followed 
by  a  little  shriek  of  rising  wind.  Then,  in  a 
moment,  came  whirl  and  darkness,  foam  and 
fury,  uproar  and  confusion.  One  of  the  violent 
and  dangerous  squalls  to  which  Gennesaret  was 
subject  had  struck  the  lake.  The  peaceful  tints 
of  the  water  darkened  into  angry  masses  of 
color ;  pearl  and  rose  and  gold  became  slate  and 
black  and  iron. 

Cries  arose  from  the  pleasure-boats.  The 
clumsy  sails  of  the  age  struggled  in  the  tornado, 
and  came  down.  People  made  for  the  shore  as 


COME  FORTH.  161 

fast  as  their  senses  permitted.  These  flaws 
from  the  gorges  among  the  hills  were  greatly 
feared  upon  the  shores  of  the  lake,  and  there 
was  little  trifling  with  them.  Cries  of  excite 
ment  or  fear  arose  from  the  boats  and  from  the 
beaches.  One  mad  little  boat  capsized,  but  a 
couple  of*sturdy  young  Jews  were  the  only  pas 
sengers,  and,  being  nearly  ashore,  they  swam 
for  it  comfortably  and  attracted  but  little  atten 
tion. 

The  wind  had  now  beaten  itself  into  a  mani 
acal  temper,  and  a  vicious-looking  storm-cloud 
swung  over  the  sea  and  hung  in  mid-heaven. 
In  the  midst  of  the  uproar  the  sun  sank,  and 
the  sudden  darkness  of  a  hill  country  was  added 
to  the  dismal  scene. 

Among  the  crowd  upon  the  beach  —  a  scurry 
ing  mass  of  incoherent  men,  these  landing  and 
those  shouting,  some  pushing  up  the  shore  to 
get  away,  and  others  pushing  down  to  it  to  see 
what  was  going  on  —  one  man  stood  in  a  kind  of 
stupor,  straining  his  eyes  over  the  black  belt  of 
the  water,  where  the  foam  wras  flying  wildly. 
It  was  Lazarus.  He  was  transfixed  with  agony. 
Zahara's  boat  had  become  invisible. 

"A  boat!"  cried  Lazarus,  suddenly  starting 
to  his  senses.  "  A  boat  to  save  a  lady !  A 
boat  and  boatmen  !  I  pay  a  price  for  it !  " 

But  the  bystanders  shook  their  heads,  look- 


162  COME  FORTH. 

ing  dogged  and  sullen  through  the  half-light. 
No  man  stirred.  Lazarus  ran  down  to  the 
water  and  seized  a  skiff,  and  began  to  push  it 
out.  Half  a  dozen  hands  snatched  it  away  from 
him. 

"  You  get  no  boat  and  no  boatmen  from  a 
Galilean  fisherman  in  a  blow  like  this,"  said  one 
of  the  men  imperiously.  "  If  you  would  kill 
yourself,  which  is  contrary  to  the  law,  you  get 
no  help  from  us." 

At  this  moment  an  authoritative  voice  came 
crashing  into  the  crowd. 

"  A  boat !  A  boat !  Fifty  denarii  for  a  boat 
and  the  rowers  thereof !  "  It  was  the  voice  of 
the  High  priest.  His  venerable  figure  trembled 
with  terror ;  his  long  beard  blew  in  the  wind  ; 
his  face  was  convulsed.  A  Roman  standing  by 
said  carelessly :  — 

"  Some  of  his  women  are  across  the  lake." 

Lazarus  ran  up  to  Annas,  and  poured  forth 
wild  words,  a  torrent  of  them,  offering  his  ser 
vices,  himself,  his  body,  soul,  —  all  Lazarus  to 
save  Zahara. 

"  But  wrench  thou  the  boat  from  these  craven 
fellows,  and  I  will  reach  her,  by  the  God  of  our 
Fathers  !  I  save  Zahara !  " 

Annas,  in  the  naturalness  of  the  awful  mo 
ment,  held  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the  hand 
of  the  builder.  The  two  men  swayed  together 


COME  FORTH.  163 

on  one  great  impulse.  They  ran  down  into  the 
water,  wading  out.  The  High  priest  flung  a 
handful  of  gold  into  the  face  of  a  fisherman,  with 
a  force  that  knocked  the  fellow  flat ;  and,  snatch 
ing  his  boat  from  him,  hurled  it  into  the  water. 
Lazarus  sprang  in.  Then  the  senses  of  the 
High  priest  returned  to  him. 

"  Are  you  familiar  with  seacraft  ?  "  he  asked 
suddenly.  "  Can  you  row  well  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  inland  mechanic,  "  not 
well.  But  I  have  handled  oars.  I  can  get  to 
her." 

"  She  is  safer  without  you,"  answered  the 
High  priest  coldly.  The  storm  was  now  a  tem 
pest.  It  bellowed  at  the  two  men,  so  that  they 
could  with  difficulty  hear  each  other's  voices 
through  the  blast.  The  lake  had  become  a  cur 
tain  of  cloud,  and  wind,  and  night.  The  High 
priest  stood  distractedly,  calling  certain  slaves 
of  his,  and  urging  them  into  the  boat. 

"  Ho,  there  !  In  with  you !  Row  forth  !  Row 
yonder  to  your  mistress,  ye  dogs  !  " 

Lazarus,  moved  by  one  of  the  uncontrollable 
impulses  that  madden  or  inspire  men,  turned 
from  the  disheartening  scene,  and  dashed  off 
down  the  shore  on  his  own  responsibility. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  or  why  he  did 
it,  but  urged  by  the  longing  to  get  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  endangered  boat,  the  young  man 


164  COME  FORTH. 

rushed  along  the  edge  of  the  lake  on  the  lee 
ward  side  of  the  storm,  making  mad  haste, 
scrambling  over  rock  and  wreck,  and  beating 
onward  blindly.  Of  course,  if  Zahara  had 
crossed  the  lake,  it  was  a  hopeless  undertaking 
to  reach  a  sight  of  her.  But  suppose  she  had 
been  blown  out  of  her  way,  the  boat  might  even 
be  in  sight,  as  soon  as  the  clouds  should  lift ; 
and  the  course  which  the  lover's  instinct  took 
proved  not  so  aimless  as  it  seemed. 

Lazarus  made,  in  this  reckless  way,  a  long 
distance,  —  miles  or  leagues,  for  aught  he  knew; 
—  he  had  lost  all  estimate  of  time  or  space. 
Whether  it  were  midnight  or  morning,  if  he 
were  in  Capernaum  or  in  Jerusalem,  he  knew 
not,  when  suddenly,  to  his  blurred  and  blood 
shot  eyes,  there  appeared  a  vision  of  a  little 
beaten  boat,  laboring  heavily  in  the  sea,  and 
blown  directly  toward  him,  half  a  league  out. 
Lazarus  flung  all  his  soul  into  his  voice  and 
called :  — 

"Zahara!" 

But  he  might  as  well  have  summoned  the  shade 
of  Sarah,  the  wife  of  Abraham,  from  the  tomb, 
as  Zahara  from  that  raging  expanse  of  night 
and  sea. 

He  could  see,  or  he  seemed  to  see,  the  pretty 
purple  sail  of  the  toy  boat,  rent  and  ruined, 
flapping  to  the  gale  ;  the  silly  craft  careened 


COME   FORTH.  165 

like  the  shell  of  a  dove's  egg.  and  lo,  while  he 
stood  helpless  and  shouting,  and  perishing  of  his 
anguish,  the  boat  did  overturn  before  his  eyes, 
and  human  figures  were  spilled  into  the  water 
like  beetles.  Then  the  storm  burst  with  a  roar, 
and  he  saw  no  more. 

When  Lazarus  came  to  himself,  it  had  light 
ened  a  little.  A  cleft  in  the  mass  of  angry 
cloud  showed  a  single  star.  He  crawled  to  his 
feet,  and  waded  out  into  the  water  madly,  call 
ing  and  pleading  for  Zahara.  He  waded  out  up 
to  his  neck,  and  tried  to  swim  toward  the  wreck  ; 
but  he  was  a  poor  swimmer,  and  the  waves  beat 
him  back.  He  sank  upon  the  sands,  and  tried 
nothing  more.  Despair  took  him.  He  no  longer 
even  wailed  her  name,  but  lay  like  a  dead  man, 
with  his  face  upturned  to  the  awful  storm. 
Now,  as  he  lay  there,  suddenly  a  singular  silence 
fell  upon  the  raving  scene.  The  huge  violence 
of  wind  which  was  over  his  head  came  to  a 
stop,  with  a  concussion.  It  was  a  tremendous 
concussion,  like  thunder ;  but  thunder  it  was 
not,  nor  was  it  any  sound  with  the  like  of  which 
his  ears  were  familiar.  The  storm  simply  ceased, 
as  if  at  a  military  "  Halt ! "  The  cloud  over 
head  lightened,  brightened,  and  burst.  Sky 
shone  through.  The  water,  still  unconquered, 
leaped,  like  rebel  forces,  high  to  meet  it.  As 
the  young  man  crawled  to  his  knees,  to  watch 


166  COME   FORTH. 

the  turmoil  of  the  sea,  straining  for  a  sight  of 
the  doomed  boat,  he  perceived  a  remarkable 
thing. 

Straight  between  the  shore  and  the  spot  where 
the  boat  had  overturned,  a  long  narrow  line  of 
light  and  calm  appeared,  cut  like  a  path  between 
billows  and  foam.  Upon  this  fair  and  shining 
water-way  a  majestic  figure  moved.  It  glided 
toward  the  shore,  with  light  feet  treading  the 
water  as  a  man  treadeth  the  solid  sand.  The 
face  of  the  man  could  not  be  seen  ;  but  his  mien 
was  mighty.  In  his  arms  he  bore  a  helpless 
human  form  —  a  woman's  —  dripping  from  the 
sea. 

The  heart  of  Lazarus  beat  as  if  it  would 
strangle  him.  His  breath  came  in  gasps.  He 
struggled  to  his  feet ;  then  sank  again,  and  fell 
upon  his  knees.  In  the  outline  and  attitude  of 
that  commanding  figure  something  familiar  and 
pathetic  seemed  to  appeal  to  him.  It  advanced 
solemnly.  It  spake  no  word.  God  was  it,  or 
man,  or  angel  ? 

It  moved  on  majestically.  It  reached  the 
shore.  It  stooped  above  the  young  man,  and 
gently  laid  the  woman  at  his  feet. 

Then  Lazarus  came  to  himself,  and  sprang 
and  cried  out  mightily,  and  clutched  after  the 
two  figures,  —  the  woman's  and  his  who  carried 
her,  —  and  his  cry  rang  to  the  skies,  and  pierced 


COME  FORTH.  167 

the  shore  of  Galilee.  But  this  was  the  order  of 
the  cry :  — 

"  Zahara !  " 

"  Master  !  " 

And,  whether  God,  or  man,  or  angel,  the 
vision  answered  not,  but  bent  above  the  young 
man  and  the  woman  in  the  attitude  of  benedic 
tion,  and  departed  from  them  in  the  thick  foliage 
of  the  lake  shore. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHEN  Lazarus  had  come  forth  from  Gethse- 
mane,  the  garden  of  Amos,  his  heart  was  sore 
and  tender  with  remorse  and  with  love.  His 
feeling  toward  the  Nazarene  rose  into  ardent 
longing;  and  he  made  all  haste  at  the  first 
possible  moment  to  meet  the  generous  and  for 
giving  friend,  whose  attitude  toward  himself 
was  one  of  such  nobility  and  fidelity.  The  op 
portunity  did  not  arrive  until  the  evening  of 
the  second  day  thereafter  ;  then  it  was  that  the 
hour  of  evening  prayer  found  Lazarus  actively 
searching  for  Jesus  in  his  usual  haunts  at  Jeru 
salem.  The  search  was  unsuccessful.  In  the 
course  of  it,  Lazarus  happened  to  come  upon 
John  the .  fisherman,  who  informed  him  quietly, 
somewhat  coldly,  Lazarus  thought,  that  his  Mas 
ter  journeyed  to  Tiberias,  whither  he  himself 
should  follow,  with  other  disciples  of  the  Rabbi, 
upon  the  succeeding  day.  It  did  indeed  occur 
to  Lazarus  that  he  might  go  to  Tiberias  him 
self  ;  but  at  that  precise  time  came  the  order 
from  the  High  priest  to  improve  the  villa  at 
Capernaum. 


COME   FORTH.  169 

Lazarus  responded  to  it  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

Thus  again  had  fate,  or  that  movement  of 
our  own  to  which  we  are  apt  to  give  the  com 
fortable  name  of  fate,  interposed  between  the 
young  man  and  the  teacher  whom  he  idealized 
and  neglected,  revered  and  grieved.  Now,  in 
this  tremendous  moment,  in  night  and  storm 
and  wreck,  and  in  the  face  of  death,  the  two 
had  met,  and  yet  had  met  not.  Lazarus  had 
not  even  seen  the  countenance  of  his  friend ;  it 
was  so  dark,  and  his  own  eyes  so  dimmed  by 
those  tears  that  come  of  seaward  gazing  and 
straining.  He  had  only  felt  that  benignant 
and  wondrous  presence,  as  one  might  feel  the 
passing  of  an  angel  in  the  darkness.  Jesus  him 
self  had  not  spoken  an  audible  word.  Lazarus 
fancied  that  his  breath  came  quickly,  either  in 
agitation  or  from  exhaustion  :  but  he  was  so 
used  to  associating  the  Nazarene  with  the  signs 
of  power,  achievement,  and  self-possession,  that 
it  was  difficult  for  him  to  attribute  these  indica 
tions  of  effort  and  pathetic  sensitiveness  to  that 
mysterious  Personality. 

At  any  rate,  whether  aggrieved  or  rebuking, 
whether  in  tenderness  or  in  displeasure,  the 
Nazarene  had  gone. 

The  first  movement  of  Lazarus,  it  must  be  ad 
mitted,  was  toward  Zahara.  To  discover  whether 


170  COME  FORTH. 

she  still  lived,  —  this  instinct  dominated  every 
thing.  He  caught  her  delicate,  wet  hand  in  his ; 
it  dropped  heavily  at  her  side.  He  bent  above 
her,  reverently  daring  to  put  his  ear  upon  her 
sacred  breast ;  her  heart  beat,  —  weakly,  but 
steadily  enough,  like  the  heart  of  a  strong  girl 
whom  shock  and  shipwreck  do  not  easily  kill. 

"  She  lives !  "  murmured  Lazarus.  "  She  is 
saved.  Zahara  lives !  " 

Then,  to  his  credit  let  us  record  it  of  him,  be 
fore  Lazarus  made  another  effort  in  behalf  of 
Zahara,  he  did  make  one  to  recall  his  friend. 

"  Master  !  "  cried  Lazarus.  "  Lord,  return  to 
me !  Eeturn !  Stay  with  me  but  a  moment, 
Kabboni,  that  I  may  worship  thee,  thou  Hope  of 
Israel ! " 

But  the  solemn  movement  of  the  oleanders 
against  the  dying  wind  was  the  only  answer 
which  the  young  man  received.  Jesus  did  not 
return. 

The  storm  was  now  abated,  as  suddenly  as  it 
had  arisen.  The  wind  had  sunk  like  a  whipped 
hound.  The  waves  were  restless  still ;  but  that 
pathway  of  light,  upon  which  the  mystical  vision 
of  the  Nazarene  had  trodden,  widened  slowly, 
broadened  solemnly,  until  it  lay  upon  the  lake 
like  holy  oil,  and  quelled  the  water.  Whatever 
might  be  the  fate  of  Zahara's  companions  in  the 
little  pleasure-boat,  Lazarus  did  not  ask ;  it  must 


COME  FORTH.  171 

be  owned  that  he  had  forgotten  to  care.  Zahara 
breathed.  Zahara  lay  at  his  feet,  a  lovely,  sob 
bing,  living  woman,  coming  to  her  senses  with 
all  sorts  of  pretty  frights  and  signs  of  distress 
that  drove  every  other  consciousness  from  his 
nature. 

It  was  night.  It  was  solitude.  It  was  Zahara. 
No  hand  could  snatch  her  from  him  now.  Nei 
ther  law  nor  priest  could  rob  him  of  that  one 
hour.  It  was  his  own. 

"  Lazarus  ?  "  moaned  Zahara,  "  am  I  drowned  ? 
Are  we  dead  together,  thou  and  I  ?  " 

"  By  the  shade  of  Abraham  !  thou  livest,  and 
we  are  together,"  cried  Lazarus ;  "  and  which  is 
the  greater  miracle  I  cannot  tell  thee,  for  I  know 
not.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  Zahara,  art  thou  hurt  ?  Dost 
thou  suffer  pain  ?  How  can  I  comfort  thee  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  wet,"  said  Zahara,  "  and  it  was 
terrible,  and  I  suffer  such  fright  as  might  kill  a 
woman  ;  but  I  will  be  stronger  than  my  fright. 
I  shall  arise  and  get  me  to  my  father." 

She  struggled  to  her  feet  and  stood  before 
the  young  man  for  an  instant,  full  in  the  star 
light.  Her  wet  drapery  clung  to  her  from  neck 
to  ankles.  Lazarus  looked  up  at  her  from  the 
sands  where  he  knelt  at  her  feet.  His  brain 
whirled.  Beautiful  creature !  .  .  .  He  held  up 
his  arms  to  her.  Zahara  tottered. 

"  Help  me,  Lazarus,"  she    said  faintty.     "  I 


172  CO. WE   FORTH. 

cannot  walk  alone.  Help  me  homeward,  for  I 
would  fain  "  — 

What  would  Zahara  fain  have  done?  She 
never  told  him.  Lazarus  never  asked.  Still 
kneeling,  he  lifted  his  appealing  arms ;  and 
Zahara,  like  a  princess,  stooped  to  them. 

He  caught  her  and  drew  her  gently  to  him. 
She  came  right  royally,  —  a  strong  surrender, 
womanly  and  wise.  It  was  as  if  Zahara  scorned 
to  be  coy,  and  to  play  with  the  love  which  was 
great  enough  to  conquer  her. 

"  Lazarus !  "  she  murmured,  "  I  am  alive,  and 
I  love  thee  !  " 

"  And  we  are  alone,  and  I  love  thee  !  Come 
to  me,  Zahara,  for  I  would  shelter  thee." 

He  gathered  her  to  his  arms,  to  his  shoulder, 
to  his  breast,  slowly,  delicately ;  afraid,  not  of 
men  or  of  angels,  only  of  his  own  love  and  of  the 
maiden's  holy  nature.  The  queenly  girl  crept 
to  him  as  gently  as  the  meekest  woman  of  them 
all.  Dark  as  it  was,  he  closed  his  eyes  instinc 
tively,  that  he  might  for  that  supreme  moment 
see  nothing,  not  even  the  dim  outline  of  her 
drooping  face  ;  that  he  might  only  feel  the  timid 
motion  of  her  round  arm  as  it  stole  around  his 
neck,  the  approach  of  her  velvet  cheek  to  his 
own,  her  fragrant  breath  upon  his  beard,  the 
delicate  beating  of  her  pure  heart,  the  ecstasy  of 
her  surrendered  lips.  Presently,  he  would  look 


COME  FORTH.  173 

at  her.  One  sense  at  a  time  was  enough  ;  how 
could  man  bear  too  manifold  a  joy  ?  To  touch 
her,  —  that  was  Eden.  That  first  embrace  he 
chose  in  sacred  darkness. 

..."  Now  would  I  behold  thee,  —  now  would 
I  look  upon  thy  face.  I  would  gaze  into  thine 
eyes,  for  they  are  mine.  I  would  feed  my  sight 
upon  thy  lips,  for  1  have  kissed  them  with  the 
kisses  of  my  mouth  !  A  blight  upon  the  night, 
that  it  is  too  dark  to  see  the  glory  of  thy  face, 
my  own !  " 

"  Were  it  not  dark,  then  were  we  not  together, 
O  my  lover.  Curse  not  the  gloom  that  gives  me 
to  thine  arms.  Why,  Lazarus,  I  am  happy  to  be 
here  !  Dear,  my  lord  —  I  love  thee." 

"  I  bless  the  night,  I  bless  the  storm,  I  bless 
the  wreck,  I  bless  the  dark  —  and  thee  I  bless, 
Zahara.  I  enfold  thee  —  and  I  worship  thee." 

"Lazarus?" 

"  Zahara ! " 

"  I  must  depart.  I  must  return.  I  must  get 
me  to  my  father  " 

"  Zahara,  thou  must  stay,  thou  must  remain, 
thou  must  rest  upon  my  heart." 

"  How  long,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Till  I  release  thee." 

"  That  must  be  immediately,  sweet  sir." 

"  That  shall  be  when  I  elect,  fair  lady." 

"  Thou  art  a  Herod.  Thou  playest  the  tyrant 
with  a  maiden." 


174  COME  FORTH. 

"  If  thou  art  not  happy  of  such  tyranny,  thou 
art  as  free  as  the  bird  that  flieth  above  the  tree- 
top." 

"Zahara?" 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  Lazarus  ?  " 

"  Thou  answerest  me  not.  Wouldst  thou  be 
free  of  me  ?  Rebellest  thou  against  thy  Herod  ? 
Then  leave  me.  Go,  Zahara.  By  the  oath  of 
Isaac,  who  did  honor  and  love  Kebecca,  I  stay 
thee  not,  if  thou  mislikest  thy  tyrant.  Wouldst 
depart,  Zahara  ?  Wouldst  thou  go  from  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  then,  Lazarus,  for  I  cannot." 

"  I  constrain  thee  not.  See !  My  arms  re 
lease  thee.  Why  dost  thou  not  escape  them  ?  " 

"  Dear,  my  lord,  I  have  said  it.  I  go  not,  be 
cause  I  cannot.  A  power  greater  than  the  force 
of  a  man's  arm  constraineth  me.  Nay,  I  escape 
not." 

"  Name  me  the  name  of  this  power,  Zahara." 

"  Behold,  I  know  not,  Lazarus.  Perhaps  men 
call  it  love." 

"  Zahara  !  Princess  !  Bright  One  !  Shining ! 
Thou  dearest  !  Thou  Divinest !  I  clasp  thee  ! 
I  control  thee  !  Thou  nestlest  to  my  heart  like 
a  little  slave." 

"  Behold  me  !  I  am  the  slave  of  my  love,  and 
thou  art  its  lord,  and  mine.  Lazarus  !  .  .  .  Be 
unto  me  as  thou  wilt,  and  what  thou  wiliest,  that 
am  I  to  thee.  ,  .  I  love  thee  !  " 


COME  FORTH.  175 

With  joy  that  blotted  out  life  and  death,  and 
heaven  and  earth,  from  the  young  man's  con 
sciousness,  he  sealed  those  womanly  words  upon 
her  warm,  uplifted  lips.  When  from  the  hin 
drance  of  ecstasy  his  breath  returned  to  him, 
and  the  voice  thereof,  he  sought  to  try  the  mai 
den,  what  should  be  the  meaning  of  her  soul  to 
him. 

"  Zahara,  thou  knowest  me  what  I  am,  —  Laz 
arus  the  Builder,  an  honorable  man  ;  but  thou 
art  the  daughter  of  the  High  priest.  Thine  am 
I  utterly  and  always.  What  art  thou  to  me  and 
to  the  love  of  my  heart,  for  it  is  mighty  ?  Man 
and  woman  born  of  one  rank,  and  unhindered^  of 
their  will,  —  these  wed  ;  but  that  thou  wouldst 
not.  Thou  couldst  not  stoop  to  me." 

"  I  have  said  it,"  whispered  Zahara  timidly. 

"  What  hast  thou  said  ?  The  ears  of  my  soul 
are  deaf.  I  am  stunned  with  joy.  Lovest  thou 
me,  Zahara  .  .  .  enough  for  that  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  behold  thine  handmaid.  Be  it  unto 
me  as  thou  electest." 

So  said  Zahara,  not  inaudibly,  but  in  a  strong, 
sweet  voice.  She  lifted  her  face  from  the  breast 
of  her  lover,  and  threw  her  fine  head  back,  that 
she  might  regard  him,  or  try  to  regard  him, 
through  the  dark.  For  a  moment,  silence, 
sweeter  than  speech,  succeeded  to  her  incredible 
words.  Delirious  with  delight,  Lazarus  leaned 


176  COME  FORTH. 

toward  her.  She  drew  away  from  him  a  lit 
tle,  in  a  kind  of  sudden  terror,  whether  of 
him,  or  of  herself,  or  of  the  thing  which  she  had 
said. 

"  Now  neither  Annas  nor  any  man  shall  say 
me  nay,"  vowed  Lazarus,  "  but  I  will  have  thee 
to  wife." 

A  few  men  and  women  know  for  one  hour  in 
their  lives,  and  one  only,  and  most  of  us  at  no 
time,  moments  such  as  came  that  night  to  this 
youth  and  maiden,  cast  by  accident  into  that 
precious  solitude  which  they  wrested  from  fate 
as  hid  treasure.  In  an  age  and  a  state  of  society 
where  honorable  man  and  woman  may  converse 
without  a  witness,  the  rarity  and  value  of  that 
meeting  between  Lazarus  and  Zahara  can  hardly 
be  appreciated. 

Who  can  blame  them  that  they  forgot  all  else 
but  each  other,  saving  the  reverence  of  their 
great  love  ?  The  storm,  the  shipwreck,  the  res 
cue,  the  rescuer,  the  poor  bondsmen  floating  to 
wrho  knew  what  fate,  the  old  man  agonized  on  the 
distant  shore,  —  these  were  as  if  they  were  not  to 
the  lovers.  Was  not  Zahara  drenched  through 
all  her  pretty,  flimsy  clothes  ?  She  thought  not, 
knew  not,  cared  not.  Was  she  not  chilled  to 
the  heart,  and  shivering  with  cold  ? 

"•Nay,  my  love,  thou  warmest  me.  Thine 
arms  are  robes  and  cover  me.  Thou  command- 


COME  FORTH.  177 

est,  and  I  am  at  ease.  Thou  breathest  upon  me, 
and  I  am  strong." 

"  Thou  lovest  me,  and  I  am  deified !  "  cried 
Lazarus. 

Ah,  then,  arms  meet,  and  lips  linger,  and 
vows  are  breathed,  and  longing  whispered,  and 
hope  and  reverence  and  rapture  sway  and  con 
trol  the  loving,  to  whom  this  snatch  of  joy  may 
be  the  first,  the  last,  the  only  concession  that 
they  can  wrest  from  fate.  How  long  they 
stayed  in  that  desolate,  storm-swept  spot  neither 
of  these  lovers  ever  knew.  Zahara  came  to  her 
self  first,  —  gently  unclasped  his  fingers  from  her 
yielding  arms,  and  staggered  to  her  feet. 

"  This  time,"  said  Zahara,  "  I  shall  go." 

"One  more,"  pleaded  the  lover,  —  "one  little 
moment  more." 

"  My  poor  old  father ! "  said  Zahara. 
"Wouldst  thou  love  me  better,  Lazarus,  if  I 
forgot  him  altogether  ?  All  this  time,  while  we 
have  been  so  happy,  he  mourneth  for  me  as 
among  the  dead.  Shall  I  be  the  better  wife  to 
thee,  my  lord,  for  being  so  poor  a  daughter  ?  " 

Lazarus,  at  these  dear  words,  yielded  utterly. 
Without  further  protest,  he  took  Zahara  home 
at  once,  as  he  should  have  done  long  ago. 
The  walk  was  long,  —  yea,  blessedly  long.  The 
maiden  smiled  thereat.  Though  now,  exposed 
to  the  night  wind,  she  began  to  feel  the  effect 


178  COME  FORTH. 

of  her  shipwreck,  yet  she  made  no  complaint. 
Lazarus  wrapped  her  in  his  talith,  and  shielded 
her,  and  held  her  to  his  heart,  half  lifting  her 
and  half  supporting  her  over  the  rough  way. 

As  they  walked,  they  discoursed  more  quietly, 
as  the  mood  fell  upon  them  ;  and  it  now  seemed 
to  Lazarus  that  he  must,  if  ever,  make  known 
to  the  maiden  the  mystical  manner  of  her  res 
cue.  With  some  hesitation,  he  inquired  of  her 
what  she  remembered  of  the  shipwreck. 

"  The  boat  overturned  —  and  Rebecca  screamed 

—  and  the  slaves  cried  out.     Poor  Rebecca !     I 
forgot  Rebecca.     I  hope  the  fellows  saved  her. 
She  did  cling  upon  the  boat.     But  I  fell  over 
into  the  water,  —  and  it  was  colder  than  death, 

—  and  I  prayed  Jehovah  to  save  me.    And  then 
I  began  to  sink ;  and  then  some  person  caught 
me  —  and  that  is  all  I  know." 

"Who  dost  thou  suppose  saved  thee,  my 
own,"  asked  Lazarus  tenderly,  "and  how 
thinkest  thou  such  a  deed  was  done  ?  " 

"  Verily,  I  know  not,"  answered  Zahara  care 
lessly. 

"  But  who  brought  thee  from  the  wreck  unto 
the  shore,  Zahara?  It  is  a  long  space;  two 
stadia  at  least,  I  think." 

Zahara  shook  her  head  perplexedly. 

"  Was  it  thou  ?  " 

"  Alas,  Zahara,  I  swam  about  a  boat's  length 


COME  FORTH.  179 

to  thee.  The  waters  beat  me  back.  I  could  do 
no  more  for  thee  than  thy  silken  sail." 

"  It  is  singular,"  said  Zahara.  "  Was  it  one 
of  the  slaves  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  King  of  kings ! "  cried  Lazarus 
abruptly.  Zahara  lifted  her  large,  warm  eyes. 
They  looked  a  little  critically  at  him,  through  the 
gloom.  Was  Lazarus  subject  to  mania?  Had 
the  shipwreck  disordered  his  intellect  ? 

There  was  nothing  less  to  do,  and  Lazarus 
told  her  the  amazing  facts.  He  expected  them 
to  overwhelm  Zahara  ;  perhaps  to  convert  her 
to  his  own  faith  in  the  wonderful  Rabbi.  To 
his  perplexity,  Zahara  received  the  story  coolly. 

"  Thou  madest  some  mistake,  my  love,"  she 
answered  ;  "  thy  fright  and  the  darkness  did  de 
ceive  thee.  Some  of  the  slaves  swam  ashore 
with  me." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  Lazarus.  "  He  whom  I 
name  did  walk  the  sea  and  carry  thee,  and  lay 
thee  at  my  feet,  and  disappear.  Sawest  thou 
ever  a  slave  do  that  ?  " 

"  Some  of  these  fellows  have  wonderful  art," 
said  Zahara  incredulously.  "  They  do  extraor 
dinary  things." 

Zahara's  beautiful  face,  lifted  to  Lazarus,  bore 
the  high-bred  skeptical  expression  of  the  culti 
vated  doubter.  Lazarus  was  terribly  pained  by 
it  for  the  moment.  Then  she  smiled,  and  he 


180  COME  FORTH. 

kissed  her  and  forgot  it,  for  the  lights  of  Caper 
naum  gleamed  through  the  night  suddenly  at 
a  curve  in  the  shore  ;  and  yonder  was  the  villa, 
and  they  must  part  —  who  knew  when,  who 
knew  how,  to  meet  again  ? 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

WHEN  Lazarus  and  Zahara  reached  the  town, 
the  last  trace  of  the  storm  had  ceased.  The 
stars  were  out,  and  their  cold  light  glanced  upon 
the  subsiding  waves  tin  sympathetically.  The 
lake  wore  her  commonplace  face.  Danger  was 
gone  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  Boats  were 
out  in  search  of  the  shipwrecked  party. 

The  streets  were  nearly  vacant,  for  all  who 
could  leave  their  homes  were  crowded  on  the 
beach.  Lazarus  and  Zahara  entered  the  town 
unnoticed,  as  separate  and  safe  as  two  ghosts. 
Had  they,  in  fact,  gone  down  in  the  lake  that 
wild  night,  and  had  their  spirits  returned  from 
their  drowned  bodies  to  mingle  with  the  living, 
they  could  not  have  met  a  more  quiet  reception. 
This,  under  the  circumstances,  was  delightful. 
They  clung  to  each  other  as  they  trod  the  open 
streets,  and  in  the  shadows  of  houses  they  lin 
gered  to  exchange  the  maddening  words  of  love 
and  separation.  The  young  man  lifted  the 
maiden  and  helped  her  weary  feet  along;  and 
she  clung  to  him,  haughty  Zahara  !  and  nestled 
to  him,  as  he  had  said,  "  like  a  little  slave." 


182  COME  FORTH. 

She  was  so  wet,  and  now  began  to  be  so 
chilly,  that  he  hurried  as  fast  as  might  be  with 
her  toward  her  father's  villa,  staying  for  nothing, 
not  even  to  search  for  the  High  priest  upon  the 
shore ;  for  Lazarus  felt  that  the  more  quickly 
and  quietly  the  maiden  should  be  restored  to  her 
home,  the  better  pleased  the  old  man  would  be. 

Within  the  walls  of  her  own  garden,  Zahara 
took  the  last  touch  from  her  lover's  lips. 

When  could  there  be  another  moment  like 
this !  She  clung  to.  him,  delaying  its  agony  and 
ecstasy,  and  had  well-nigh  unmanned  him  by 
her  emotion. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,"  murmured  Zahara,  "  I  am 
the  happiest  woman  and  I  am  the  saddest  wo 
man  in  all  Judea." 

"  And  I  the  proudest  man  and  the  most 
wretched  in  all  the  world !  " 

"  Farewell,  my  own,  sweet  my  lord,  farewell. 
I  give  thee  my  face,  and  my  lips  I  give  thee  for 
the  last  time  !  " 

"  Then  shall  there  be  a  thousand  last  times !  " 
vowed  Lazarus,  "  for  I  will  take  nothing  less  of 
earth  or  heaven  than  thee,  Zahara." 

"  But  how,  sir,  wilt  thou  do  this  thing  ? 
Verily,  I  know  the  High  priest,  my  father.  His 
will  staiideth  like  an  open  tomb  between  us." 

"  Then  into  it  I  step,"  cried  the  lover,  "  but 
I  will  have  thee.  The  man  who  loveth  as  I 


COME  FORTH.  183 

love,  Zahara,  becometh  as  a  god.  He  taketh 
power  into  his  soul  and  into  Ms  body  that  other 
men  know  not.  He  createth  and  he  destroyeth, 
and  means  and  hindrances  are  not  to  him  as 
unto  common  men.  Thou  crownest  him  with 
thy  love,  and  he  is  a  king.  Thou  givest  him 
the  treasure  of  thy  life,  and  he  hath  divinity. 
Leave  the  way  to  me,  Zahara,  but  mine  thou 
shalt  be.  Nor  will  I  be  contented  with  the  least 
of  thee  nor  a  portion  of  thee,  but  I  will  have  all 
Zahara,  as  Heaven  heareth  me  !  " 

Zahara  made  him  no  answer,  in  so  far  as  the 
answer  of  words  counteth,  but  she  lifted  to  him 
lips  that  a  man  might  have  died  for,  and  clasped 
him  with  arms  that  a  king  might  have  lived  for ; 
and  Lazarus  spoke  no  more ;  but,  trembling 
with  their  love  and  grief,  they  passed  on  silently 
across  the  deserted  gardens,  and  so  Lazarus 
bore  her  to  her  father's  house. 

Great  agitation  prevailed  in  the  villa.  The 
officers  and  servants  hurried  to  and  fro,  going 
on  fruitless  errands,  and  ordered  wildly  about 
by  a  distracted  old  man,  whom  some  one  had 
been  discreet  enough  and  powerful  enough  to 
lead  home.  He  was  said  to  have  become  quite 
useless  on  the  shore,  having  gone  frantic  with 
grief  when  the  storm  shut  the  lake  from  sight ; 
and  the  persistent  refusals  of  the  bystanders 
to  man  a  relief  boat  in  the  height  of  the  gale 


184  COME  FORTH. 

emphasized  the  desperateness  of  the  situation 
to  his  mind.  The  High  priest  was  accustomed  to 
being  obeyed,  to  controlling  masses  of  people,  to 
achieving  the  difficult  or  apparently  impossible, 
and  it  took  him  longer  than  it  would  an  ordi 
nary  man  to  understand  that  his  daughter  was 
probably  drowning,  and  that  nobody  could  save 
her. 

The  house  was  lighted  abundantly  for  an 
Eastern  house  of  those  times.  The  old  man  or 
dered  candles  and  lamps  scattered  everywhere ; 
he  seemed  to  believe  that  the  boat  might  per 
ceive  the  light,  —  the  house  standing  so  high  and 
being  visible  from  the  lake,  —  and  cheated  him 
self  with  this  pitiful  expedient,  while  his  messen 
gers  were  running  to  and  fro  between  the  lake 
and  villa  with  commands  and  reports.  At  the 
moment  when  Zahara  arrived,  the  news  preceded 
her  that  the  pleasure-boat  had  been  found  cap 
sized,  with  one  of  its  occupants  clinging  thereto. 
This  was  Rebecca  the  handmaid,  who  had  acci 
dentally  been  caught  in  one  of  the  ropes  of  the 
boat,  and  so  had  been  rescued  and  brought 
ashore.  Of  her  mistress,  who  was  pitched  vio 
lently  in  the  raging  sea,  nothing  could  be  found. 
The  oarsmen  were  gone.  The  two  slaves,  whom 
the  High  priest  had  ordered  off  from  shore  in 
a  little  rescuing  boat,  had  been  swamped  and 
drowned  ;  but  this  incident  scarcely  excited  any 


COME  FORTH.  185 

remark.     Human    life,  at   best,    was   cheap   in 
those  days,  and  slave  life  a  cipher  in  the  sum. 

Annas  stood  in  his  brightly  lighted  portico,  a 
trembling,  weakened  old  man,  as  pale  as  any  of 
his  drowned  slaves  at  that  moment  tossing  in 
the  lake.  The  messengers  from  the  beach  had 
torches,  and  their  wild  flare  shot  over  the  High 
priest's  face  and  figure.  He  presented  a  piteous 
picture.  When  some  one  from  the  rear  of  the 
group  pushed  forward  the  drenched  and  weep 
ing  Rebecca,  the  excitement  of  the  wretched 
father  culminated  in  an  outcry  which  shook  the 
souls  of  those  who  heard  it. 

"You,  and  not  she  !  Your  miserable  life,  — 
of  less  value  than  the  least  tassel  that  tossed 
upon  the  silken  fringes  of  her  garments  !  How 
dare  you  show  your  paltry  face  above  the  waters 
that  have  overwhelmed  hers  ?  The  least  you 
could  have  done  were  to  have  gone  to  your  doom 
beside  her.  It  was  the  last  act  of  service  you 
could  render  to  your  mistress.  Shame  upon 
you,  that  you  did  it  not !  A  curse  upon  the  mis 
erable  crew  of  you  that  had  the  impertinence  to 
live  when  death  selected  Zahara !  '' 

"Father,"  said  a  rich,  deep  voice  from  the 
shadow  of  the  garden,  "  do  not  scold  poor  little 
Rebecca.  It  was  no  fault  of  hers  ;  and  I  am 
quite  safe." 

Zahara  stepped  forward  in  her  stately  way : 


186  COME  FORTH. 

she  stood  as  calmly  as  a  Greek  statue  in  a 
heathen  temple,  and  with  a  very  similar  grace. 
In  the  outcry  and  confusion  that  followed  her 
sudden  appearance,  Zahara  maintained  a  su 
preme  quiet,  which  acted  powerfully  upon  the 
excited  scene. 

In  point  of  fact  she  was  elevated  above  it  by 
excitement  beside  which  this  looked  small  to  her. 
The  experience  of  the  last  hour  seemed  to  the 
girl  to  belittle  all  others.  What  was  this  fret 
and  chatter  about  human  life,  compared  to  the 
existence  of  such  a  love  as  she  and  he  who  loved 
her  knew  ? 

The  pure  face  of  Zahara,  pale  with  emotion, 
shone  brilliantly  ;  her  wet  white  robes  caught 
the  glare  of  the  torches,  and  flung  it  back.  She 
seemed  to  scintillate,  as  she  stood  there,  like  a 
great  gem,  many  faceted  and  nobly  set.  A 
weaker  woman,  or  a  less  royally  builded  one, 
would  have  sunk  with  exhaustion  by  this  time, 
fainted  in  her  father's  arms,  or  sobbed,  like 
Rebecca  the  slave. 

Zahara  had  never  felt  so  strong  in  her  life. 
The  kisses  of  her  lover  were  warm  yet  upon  her 
rich  lips.  Her  chilled  blood  tingled  with  his  last 
caress.  His  firm,  imperious  hand  had  but  just 
now  released  her  own,  as  he  helped  her  forward 
boldly  into  the  group,  and  stood  reverently  but 
insistently  beside  her,  that  he  might  lead  her  to 


COME   FORTH.  187 

her  father's  breast.  His  presence  was  fire, 
light,  warmth,  food,  strength,  life.  Zahara  felt 
lifted  above  everything.  She  feared  no  one. 
The  High  priest  was  no  more  formidable  than 
any  common  father.  She  ran  into  his  arms  like 
any  plebeian  daughter,  and  fondled  him  girl 
ishly,  and  Annas,  like  any  unimportant  parent, 
broke  down  and  wept,  and  clasped  the  girl,  and 
blessed  her,  and  blessed  the  God  of  his  priest 
hood  and  of  his  people  for  her  dear  life. 

"And  behold,"  cried  Zahara,  "him  who  did 
save  the  life  of  thy  daughter,  O  my  father !  " 

Lazarus  uttered  an  involuntary  protest.  This 
movement  of  Zahara' s  was  totally  unexpected  to 
him.  Who  could  count  upon  Zahara  ?  What 
was  Lazarus  to  do  ?  Words  sprang  to  his  lips, 
he  knew  not  what,  —  honest,  manly,  mad  denial. 
But  Zahara  turned  her  high  head  and  gave  him 
one  look.  That  look  sealed  his  lips.  It  said 
more  than  man  could  battle  against,  or  more 
than  he  could  fight  against  at  that  exhausted 
moment.  Of  the  two,  the  young  man  seemed 
more  exhausted  than  the  woman. 

"  The  lady  doth  overestimate  my  slight  as 
sistance,"  murmured  Lazarus,  bowing  before 
the  High  priest.  "  But  I  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  be  able  to  help  her  across  a  difficult  portion 
of  the  shore,  which  I  did  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
ability." 


188  COME  FORTH. 

At  this  instant  something  tinkled  at  the 
young  man's  feet.  Stupidly  he  stood  staring 
down.  A  brilliant  bauble  shone  on  the  wet 
pavement;  his  foot  all  but  crushed  it  as  he 
moved  to  examine  the  thing. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Zahara  imperiously,  "  be  so 
courteous  as  to  pick  up  for  me  the  bracelet 
which  has  fallen  from  my  arm." 

As  Lazarus  stooped  to  do  this,  the  lady  bent 
a  little  above  him  or  toward  him  that  she  might 
receive  the  trinket  (a  glittering  band  of  emerald 
and  jacinth)  from  his  hand.  In  doing  so  she 
contrived  to  breathe  a  few  words,  inaudible  to 
any  ear  but  that  of  the  maddest  love  or  the 
wildest  jealousy,  but  perfectly  distinct  to  the 
bewildered  and  perplexed  young  man. 

"Contradict  me  not.  Who  saveth  the 
daughter  serveth  the  father.  For  love's  sake, 
leave  the  matter  to  me." 

"Father,"  added  Zahara,  "I  have  been 
thanking  the  young  man  for  my  part,  for  my 
debt  to  him  is  mighty.  See  thou  to  it,  for  thine 
own  part  now,  that  his  high  deed  is  well  re 
garded  ;  for  I  am  wet  and  weary,  and  would 
get  among  my  maidens  and  seek  rest.  Thy 
daughter  would  have  been  tossing  yonder  in  the 
lake,  with  thy  doomed  slaves,  O  my  father,  but 
for  his  valor  and  his  strength  who  has  returned 
me  to  thine  arms.  I  know  not  how  he  did  the 


COME  FORTH.  189 

deed,"  added  Zahara,  with  an  apparent  simpli 
city  which  was  none  the  less  effective  because  it 
happened  to  be  the  truest  thing  she  said.  "  I 
cannot  tell  thee  how  I  am  saved ;  but  saved  I 
am,  and  by  his  hand  whom  I  do  honor  for  the 
doing  of  it,  I  am  restored  to  thee.  If  he  swam 
for  me,"  concluded  Zahara  prettily,  "he  is  a 
mighty  man.  At  all  events  I  do  know  him  for 
a  brave  one  and  an  honorable,  and  I  do  bless 
him  in  thy  hearing  and  that  of  all  thy  house 
hold  ;  and  now  farewell,  good  sir.  A  woman's 
gratitude  go  with  thee!  My  father,  sir,  will 
entertain  thee  for  my  sake,  and  for  that  of  the 
service  thou  hast  done  to  the  house  of  the  High 
priest  in  the  salvation  of  rny  poor  life." 

With  these  words  Zahara  departed  very 
gracefully  and  sweetly  with  her  maidens,  leav 
ing  the  astounded  Lazarus  to  his  conscience  and 
his  perplexity  —  and  the  High  priest. 

Annas  advanced  to  him  with  outstretched  arms. 
His  venerable  countenance  stirred  with  powerful 
emotions ;  these  contradicted  each  other,  and 
made  a  battle-ground  of  his  eyes  and  lips.  The 
two  men  regarded  each  other  with  the  mingled 
impressions  usual  to  their  meetings.  Each 
attracted  to  each,  midway  of  his  attraction  met 
repulsion ;  or  perhaps  it  were  truer  to  call  it  dis 
trust  or  recoil.  Annas  could  not  explain  why 
he  held  such  reserved  opinions  of  the  young 


190  COME  FORTH. 

man  to  whom  he  felt  consciously  drawn.  But 
Lazarus  knew  quite  well  why  he  shrank  from 
the  High  priest,  the  powerful  enemy  of  the 
religious  movement  dear  to  so  many  of  the  mid 
dle  and  lower  classes  of  Jewish  society  ;  and  yet 
why  he  could  have  loved  Annas,  the  father  of 
Zahara.  On  that  night  the  two  came  together 
swiftly  and  heartily.  The  tide  of  the  occasion 
swept  distrust  away.  Father  love  and  lover's 
love  united  them  instinctively.  The  High  priest 
overwhelmed  the  young  man  with  expressions  of 
gratitude  for  the  rescue  of  his  daughter. 

"  Nay,  but  I  deserve  not  such  tribute  of  the 
High  priest,"  protested  Lazarus  in  embarrass 
ment.  "What  I  have  done  was  but  a  trifle. 
You  do  overrate  my  share  in  the  salvation  of  the 
lady." 

"You  speak  courteously,  sir,"  replied  the 
High  priest,  waving  the  protest  away  with  a 
magnificent  hand.  "But  the  word  of  my 
daughter  suffices.  I  recognize  in  you  the  saviour 
of  her  life,  and  I  pray  you  to  allow  me  to 
regard  you  in  accordance  with  the  facts." 

Lazarus  was  silent  from  sheer  perplexity. 
How  should  he  contradict  the  testimony  of  Za 
hara,  and  to  her  father  ?  What  should  he,  what 
could  he  do  ? 

"  By  your  leave,"  he  answered,  with  some 
awkwardness,  "  I  will  now  return  to  my  khan. 


COME  FORTH.  191 

I  had  forgotten  the  circumstance,  but  verily  I 
believe  my  garments  are  wet  also.  I  should  seek 
shelter  and  rest." 

"  And  by  your  leave,"  returned  the  High 
priest,  with  great  courtliness  of  manners,  "  you 
will  seek  no  shelter,  while  you  remain  at  Caper 
naum,  save  the  roof  of  the  High  priest,  father 
to  Zahara,  whose  life  you  have  preserved." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN  the  village  of  Bethany  gossip  was  agog. 
The  extraordinary  rumor  of  the  healing  of  Ari- 
ella  had  scarcely  been  set  in  motion  before  it  was 
overtaken  by  another  of  a  startling  character. 

Upon  the  day  following  the  wonder,  the  neigh 
bors  flocked  to  the  house  of  Malachi,  and  de 
manded  to  see  proof  of  the  case.  But  the  maiden 
remained  invisible.  The  house  was  inhospi 
tably  closed.  No  visitor  was  allowed  entrance. 
No  excuses  were  offered.  Silently  and  sullenly 
the  barred  door  replied  to  all  advances.  The 
people  grew  restless  at  this  treatment  and  be 
came  clamorous,  raising  a  cry  without :  — 

"  Malachi  hindereth  the  maiden !  He  deni- 
eth  the  deed,  and  refuseth  the  proofs  thereof ! 
Shame  on  him  !  Shame  on  the  Pharisee !  " 

Malachi,  who  loved  to  stand  well  with  his 
neighbors,  and  at  all  events,  if  he  did  not,  ob 
jected  to  being  told  of  it,  presented  himself 
promptly  at  this  turn  of  affairs.  He  opened 
the  door  and  stood  without  it,  a  scowling  man, 
too  evidently  on  the  defensive  for  his  smooth 
words  to  be  received  with  easy  admission. 


COME  FORTH.  193 

"  Alas,  my  neighbors,  and  alas,  my  friends !  " 
said  Malachi,  u  condole  with  me  for  the  calamity 
that  has  overtaken  my  house.  The  damsel  my 
daughter,  whom  the  Pretender  hath  so  basely 
wronged  by  false  hopes  and  injurious  excite 
ment,  which  might  even  prove  fatal  to  so  sick  a 
person,  has  no  miracle  to  offer  you.  No  healing 
hath  been  wrought  upon  her.  As  she  was,  she 
is  and  remains.  Ariella  cannot  lift  her  head 
from  her  couch.  I  have  reasoned  with  her  to 
come  forth  and  show  herself  to  her  neighbors, 
and  offer  proof  of  the  marvel  which  was  reported 
to  the  village  yesterday.  But  she  ariseth  not. 
She  is  helpless  upon  her  bed.  A  condition  hath 
set  in,  consequent  upon  the  excessive  agitation 
to  which  she  has  been  subjected,  which  causes 
me  the  deepest  anxiety.  If  she  becomes  danger 
ously  ill,  or  if,  indeed,  her  former  helplessness 
increaseth,  as  I  fear  me  it  may  do,  I  promise 
you  this  fellow  shall  be  arraigned  for  sorcery 
and  evil  charms." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  interrupted  a  cool  voice 
from  the  crowd,  "  when  it  seems  he  hath  wrought 
no  wonder  in  the  maiden  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  Amos,  the  proprietor  of  Geth- 
semane,  a  calm  man,  accustomed  to  weigh  his 
words,  and  habitually  undisturbed  in  his  loyalty 
to  the  Nazarene. 

"  At  least,"  replied  Malachi,  in  some  embar- 


194  COME  FORTH. 

rassment,  "  if  it  be  not  sorcery,  then  call  it  ille 
gal  interference  with  the  sick.  I  stand  not  upon 
the  name :  it  is  the  deed  I  do  withstand.  And 
the  deed  wrought  upon  my  daughter  is  beyond 
the  law,  and  an  ignorant  fellow  hath  exposed  her 
to  the  consequence  thereof.  I  demand  punish 
ment  upon  him,  for  the  state  of  the  damsel  is 
worse  than  ever,  since  he  did  meddle  with  her 
case." 

"  Let  us  converse  with  the  damsel,"  demanded 
Amos.  "  Let  some  women  of  the  neighborhood 
be  admitted  to  her." 

"  I  would  deal  with  Ariella  myself,"  said 
Rachel,  the  mother  of  Baruch.  "  I  was  witness 
of  the  healing,  and  I  would  be  witness  of  the 
relapse,  if  such  it  be  in  deed  and  truth.  The 
honor  of  my  own  word  is  at  stake  in  the  matter. 
I  do  greatly  petition  that  I  may  be  admitted  to 
the  maiden." 

"  That  you  shall  not,  then  !  "  cried  Malachi, 
with  a  clench  of  the  fist.  "  But  for  you  and 
your  accursed  son,  smitten  of  God  at  his  birth, 
as  plainly  he  deserved,  and  she  who  bore  him, 
my  daughter  had  not  been  in  this  case  more 
wretched  than  in  her  first  estate." 

A  mutter  of  rebuke  arose  from  the  group  at 
this  brutal  speech.  The  instinct  of  the  neigh 
bors  began  to  close  about  Rachel,  protectingly, 
as  they  did  bodily  gather  in  a  little  group  around 
her.  Rachel  was  greatly  distressed. 


COME  FORTH.  195 

"  At  least,  Malachi,"  she  besought,  "  if  I  may 
not  see  the  poor  girl,  permit  me  to  exchange  a 
word  with  Hagaar,  her  mother." 

But  Malachi  replied,  sharply,  that  Hagaar  his 
wife  was  in  close  attendance  upon  the  urgent 
needs  of  Ariella,  and  could  receive  no  person. 
With  this  he  retreated,  closing  and  barring  the 
doors  of  his  house,  as  before. 

Excitement  now  ran  high  in  the  hamlet.  Ru 
mors  of  the  event  had  reached  Jerusalem,  and 
many  sight-seers  and  curious  folk  came  out  from 
the  city,  and  swelled  the  little  group  of  residents 
interested  in  the  affair.  Lazarus,  absorbed  at 
that  time  in  the  excitement  of  love  and  business, 
took  no  part  in  the  public  tremor  over  his  in 
valid  neighbor  ;  and  Mary  his  sister  was  always 
a  home-keeping,  quiet  woman.  Martha  made 
several  efforts  to  approach  the  facts  of  the  mys 
terious  case  ;  but,  being  adroitly  baffled  by  Mal 
achi,  soon  abandoned  the  subject,  for  the  more 
satisfactory  interests  of  preparing  sweetmeats  of 
dates  and  figs  for  the  winter  supply  of  her  fam 
ily.  Rachel  and  Baruch  alone,  of  the  neighbors 
of  Ariella,  persisted  in  their  attempts  to  obtain 
a  personal  interview  with  her.  But  these  were 
as  persistently  foiled. 

Baruch  was  in  a  state  of  pitiful  agitation.  As 
days  swelled  into  days  and  Ariella  remained 
invisible,  his  misery  became  so  acute  that  his 


196  COME  FORTH. 

mother's  sympathy  with  Ariella  wavered  in  sheer 
sorrow  over  her  own  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  she 
added  to  her  son's  distress  by  bewailing  the  hour 
in  which  she  had  consented  to  the  execution  of 
the  miracle  within  her  gates.  Baruch's  position, 
take  it  altogether,  was  a  hard  one,  and  growing 
worse,  when  the  news  reached  the  blind  man 
that  public  opinion  had  taken  a  decided  turn. 

Malachi  was  flatly  accused  of  imprisoning  his 
daughter,  that  the  recovery  should  not  be  veri 
fied  of  the  people,  and  the  claims  of  the  Naza- 
rene  emphasized  by  so  merciful  and  beautiful  a 
cure. 

This  view  of  the  case  did  not  seem  to  lessen, 
but  rather  to  increase,  the  unhappiness  of  Baruch. 
Between  his  vision  of  the  old  Ariella,  flung 
down  from  the  heights  of  hope  to  the  old,  sad, 
familiar  fate,  and  the  new  Ariella,  condemned, 
in  the  first  thrill  of  recovery,  to  a  brutal,  mock 
assumption  of  that  fate,  he  had  not  much  to 
choose.  Either  was  bad  enough  ;  and  either,  at 
moments,  seemed  worse  than  the  other.  Worst 
of  all  was  the  cruel  shock  given  by  the  turn 
events  had  taken  to  the  touching  faith  of  Baruch 
in  the  Nazarene. 

It  was  impossible  to  say  what  was  the  effect 
of  this  shock.  His  mother  observed  him  with  a 
motherly  impatience  which  vitiated  her  power 
to  interpret  his  condition.  The  blind  man,  al- 


COME  FORTH.  197 

ways  possessed  of  the  reticence  of  his  infirmity, 
sank  into  a  systematic  silence  and  inner  solitude 
in  which  a  sensitive  nature  may  easily  perish. 
He  frequented  the  environs  of  the  house  of 
Malachi  patiently ;  but  for  admittance  he  had 
ceased  to  hope  or  ask.  Ariella  remained  invisi 
ble  ;  nor  did  any  reliable  report  of  her  condi 
tion  reach  the  villagers,  among  whom  curiosity 
and  indignation  were  increasing  steadily. 

One  afternoon,  Baruch,  being  led  by  the  lad 
with  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  go  forth,  dis 
appeared  altogether  from  Bethany.  He  did  not 
return  at  dusk.  Night  fell,  and  nothing  was 
seen  of  him.  At  parting  from  his  mother  he 
had  bidden  her  feel  no  concern  at  his  absence, 
nor  expect  him  until  she  should  see  him. 
Rachel,  therefore,  awaited  him  with  no  more 
than  the  inevitable  uneasiness  of  a  woman  in 
such  a  position.  Baruch  occasionally  took  these 
notions,  and  demanded  his  freedom,  like  a  man 
with  eyes.  The  woman,  like  the  rest  of  her 
kind,  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  bear  it. 

Midnight  came  ;  but  Rachel  sat  alone.  Morn 
ing  followed,  noon,  dusk  again ;  but  Baruch 
did  not  return.  A  second  night's  absence  suc 
ceeded  to  the  first.  The  third  evening  set  in. 
Rachel  was  now  thoroughly  uncomfortable,  in 
asmuch  as  her  poor  boy  had  sent  her  no  sign 
or  message.  So  long  an  absence  he  had  never 


198  COME  FORTH. 

made  from  home,  in  a  fashion  so  unprotected. 
It  occurred  to  Rachel  to  seek  the  advice  of  the 
Nazarene,  for  it  was  said  by  the  common*  peo 
ple  that  he  was  never  too  weary,  or  too  busy,  or 
too  indifferent  to  give  counsel  to  any  person 
who  did  need  and  ask  it  ;  but  she  learned  that 
he  was  absent  from  Jerusalem ;  some  said  this 
way,  some  that ;  he  was  in  Tiberias,  Capernaum, 
Jericho,  this  place  or  the  other,  no  one  knew, 
and  every  one  knew  where  ;  but  he  was  not  to 
be  found. 

Meanwhile,  the  situation  at  the  house  of  Mal- 
achi  remained  unaltered.  Crowds  gathered  daily 
before  the  doors,  and  cries  and  jeers  arose  from 
the  people  whenever  the  big  figure  of  the  Phari 
see  appeared  in  sight.  Malachi  had  lost  so 
much  sleep  by  dint  of  noisy  demands  that  he 
should  come  forth  and  give  account  of  the  con 
dition  of  his  daughter  that  he  became  at  length 
overcome  with  drowsiness  and  ill  temper,  and, 
abandoning  all  attempts  to  treat  for  decency's 
sake  with  the  crowds,  barred  his  door,  and 
threw  himself  upon  a  rug  before  it  to  rest.  The 
women  of  his  household  remained  closely  con 
cealed  :  whether  by  choice  or  of  necessity  who 
could  say? 

Two  days  following  the  one  upon  which 
Baruch  disappeared  from  Bethany,  a  stout  but 
tired  ass,  ridden  by  a  man  and  a  boy,  might 


COME  FORTH.  199 

have  been  seen  in  the  outskirts  of  Tiberias, 
stopping  to  rest.  The  animal  was  an  excellent 
one,  capable  of  making  a  forced  journey;  but 
he  looked  as  if  he  had  made  it.  The  lad  was 
tired  out  and  fretful.  The  man  was  blind.  All 
three  bore  signs  of  the  need  of  sleep. 

"  Go  yonder,  Enoch,"  said  the  blind  man 
wearily,  "  unto  the  first  house  thou  passest,  and 
inquire  for  food  and  drink  and  fodder  for  the  ass. 
I  will  pay  for  it  whatever  is  required.  Thou  art 
weary,  and  needest  food  at  once.  Bring  to  me, 
but  partake  first  thyself.  I  wait  here  with  the 
animal.  He  whom  we  seek  cannot  be  far  away. 
We  shall  accomplish  our  errand  to-day,  God 
willing,  and  return  home  as  we  came." 

When  the  lad  had  departed,  the  blind  man 
sank  upon  the  ground  beside  the  ass ;  and,  keep 
ing  his  hand  closely  upon  the  rein,  that  the  crea 
ture  might  not  stray  from  him,  he  yielded  him 
self,  without  the  little  disguise  that  he  maintained 
before  the  boy,  his  guide,  to  the  saddest  of  his 
thoughts.  It  had  been  a  hard,  and  so  far  a  fruit 
less  journey.  Traveling  in  the  rear  of  a  large 
caravan  passing  that  way,  he  and  his  little  com 
panion  had  been,  as  chance  had  it,  well  pro 
tected  from  such  dangers  of  the  trip  as  their 
defenseless  condition  might  have  exposed  them 
to ;  but  the  object  of  the  journey  was  still  un- 
attained.  He  was  disheartened  and  perplexed. 


200  COME  FORTH. 

"  Baruch,"  said  a  gentle  voice  close  to  the 
blind  man's  ear,  "  whom  seekest  thou  ?  " 

A  vivid  color  shot  violently  across  the  helpless 
face  which  Baruch  lifted  to  the  speaker. 

"  Master  !  —  Thee." 

"  And  to  what  end  ?  " 

u  Master,  that  the  wonder  that  thou  wrought- 
est  may  be  confirmed."  In  hurrying,  broken 
words  Baruch  began  to  tell  the  tale  of  the 
events  which  had  overtaken  Ariella  ;  but  in  the 
midst  of  his  own  recital  he  checked  himself 
abruptly,  and  in  a  tone  of  piercing  conviction 
said :  — 

•  "Lord,  I  do  but  cast  drops  of  water  upon  the 
Lake  of  Gennesaret,  in  making  words  with  thee. 
Thou  knowest  my  speech  before  it  mounteth  unto 
my  mouth  ;  and  all  that  occurreth  to  the  maiden 
thou  knowest.  Master,  I  am  dumb,  as  I  am 
blind,  before  thee.  Be  merciful  unto  me,  and 
save  the  maiden  from  her  plight." 

Then  he  who  stood  beside  the  blind  man  did 
converse  with  him  in  a  tone  that  was  wondrous 
fine  and  kind,  and  infinite  pity  dwelt  within  his 
voice,  and  it  was  like  none  other  of  the  voices  of 
men  upon  the  earth.  The  exquisite  ear  of  the 
blind  man  quivered  beneath  it,  with  a  sense  of 
pleasure  richer  than  the  sight  of  those  who  saw. 
The  Nazarene  spoke  with  him  of  the  length  and 
weariness  of  the  journey,  of  the  uncertainty  of 


COME  FORTH.  201 

his  errand,  of  the  persistence  of  his  trust ;  and 
demanded  of  him  whether  he  had  felt  no  doubt 
of  the  wisdom  of  the  undertaking,  in  view  of 
the  difficulty  of  finding  whom  and  what  he 
sought. 

"  I  expected  to  find  thee,"  answered  Baruch 
simply,  "  and  thou  art  here." 

"  Believest  thou,"  asked  the  Nazarene,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  tone,  into  which  something 
almost  like  sternness  had  crept,  — "  believest 
thou  that  it  is  with  the  maiden  as  I  wrought 
upon  her  ?  " 

"  Lord,"  said  Baruch,  "  had  I  not  believed, 
had  I  been  here  ?  " 

"  Then  do  thou  return,"  commanded  the  Naz- 
arene,  in  a  deep  voice,  "  unto  thy  place  in  Beth 
any.  Follow  my  bidding,  and  go  thou  back  unto 
thine  own  house.  There  shalt  thou  be  justified 
of  thy  faith ;  for  it  is  mighty." 

The  blind  man  started  immediately.  This 
seemed  a  poor  ending  to  all  his  toil  and  travel. 
But  he  arose,  and  turned  his  face  about. 

"  If  the  lad  who  guideth  me  were  here,"  he 
said,  "  I  would  depart  at  once." 

"  Baruch,  Blessed  of  God !  "  cried  the  Naza- 
rene,  with  evident  emotion.  "  Again  I  say  unto 
thee,  hast  thou  naught  to  ask  of  me  for  thy- 
self?" 

"Lord,"  said  Baruch  humbly,  "what  have  I 


202  COME   FORTH. 

to  ask?  What  thou  doest  to  the  maiden  thou 
doest  unto  me." 

"  But,"  insisted  the  Rabbi,  with  what  seemed 
to  Baruch  to  be  a  break  in  his  own  voice,  "  art 
thou  then  without  a  need  or  a  desire  like  other 
men,  that  thou  forge ttest  thyself  in  the  case 
of  another  as  a  star  is  forgot  in  the  midday 
sun?" 

"  Lord,"  said  Baruch,  after  a  long  and  trem 
ulous  silence,  "  if  I  had  a  thing  to  ask  of  thee, 
it  were  that  I  might  look  upon  her  face  for  the 
space  of  so  much  as  goeth  between  the  opening 
and  closing  of  an  eyelid,  before  I  die.  But  I 
was  born  blind." 

"  Go  upon  thy  way,"  replied  the  Nazarene 
solemnly.  "  Take  the  lad  who  cometh,  and  re 
turn  in  peace.  Safety  travel  with  thee,  and 
speed  bring  thee  unharmed  to  thine  own  house ! 
At  the  door  of  thy  house,  in  Bethany,  at  the 
hour  of  thy  return,  fall  upon  thy  knees,  and  call 
upon  my  name,  and  between  the  opening  and 
closing  of  an  eyelid  thou  shalt  be  Blessed  of 
God,  for  thy  faith's  sake." 

But  when  the  lad  came,  the  Nazarene  had 
departed,  and  Baruch  stood  alone  beside  the 
ass.  So  they  saddled  the  animal  at  once,  and 
returned  as  they  came.  And  Enoch,  the  boy, 
wondered  at  this  greatly ;  but  Baruch  said  no 
thing  to  explain  himself. 


COME  FORTH.  203 

Upon  the  sixth  evening  after  the  departure 
of  her  son,  Rachel  sat  in  her  house  at  Bethany, 
oppressed  at  heart.  A  summons  at  the  gate 
startled  her  strained  ears,  and  she  answered  it 
herself,  with  the  nervous  haste  of  the  anxious. 

"  Let  us  within,  Rachel,"  loudly  whispered  a 
familiar  voice  eagerly.  "  Let  us  within,  quickly, 
and  shelter  us  in  the  name  of  the  Nazarene." 

Rachel's  face  fell,  for  it  was  not  Baruch. 
Two  women  stood  there,  trembling.  These  were 
Hagaar  and  Ariella. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Nazarene,  enter  ye ! " 
cried  Rachel.  Hospitably  and  heartily  she  drew 
the  two  women  within  her  door,  breathlessly 
demanding :  "  How  came  ye  here  ?  " 

"We  walked,"  said  Hagaar  laconically,  in 
her  bass  tone. 

"  But  how  came  she  here  ?  " 

"  Ariella  walked  —  all  the  way  —  like  other 
people." 

"  Then  the  Rabbi  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
Baruch  thought  so  all  the  time.  I  confess,  when 
I  heard  the  tongue  of  the  people  wag,  I  knew 
not  what  to  think ;  but  enter  ye,  enter,  my  neigh 
bors,  and  sup  with  me." 

"I  go  as  I  came,"  said  Hagaar  hurriedly. 
"  I  return  to  the  house  of  Malachi,  for  he  is 
my  lord,  and  I  am  subject  to  him.  But  over 
Ariella  he  shall  tyrannize  no  longer,  since  I  am 


204  COME  FORTH. 

her  mother,  and  have  legs  of  my  own  and  a 
mind  to  move  them.  All  these  days  we  have 
been  prisoners  in  the  house  of  Malachi,  my  hus 
band,  —  shame  to  him  that  I  must  own  it  to  the 
neighbors !  To-night,  as  God  willed  it,  he  did 
fall  asleep  until  he  doth  snore,  praised  be  Je 
hovah,  upon  the  rug  before  the  door.  Then  I 
arose,  and  did  pinch  him  to  make  sure  of  him, 
and  I  did  pinch  as  hard  as  I  dared,  for  I  found 
it  agreeable  ;  but  he  awaked  not.  So  I  fled  in 
the  dark  with  Ariella.  And  she  moved  as  if 
she  had  wings  upon  her  feet,  and  we  ran  here 
all  the  way  that  we  might  free  her.  Take  the 
maiden,  neighbor  Rachel,  I  pray  thee,  and  shel 
ter  her  till  I  demand  her  again  of  thee." 

With  these  words  Hagaar  departed  as  unex 
pectedly  as  she  came,  leaving  Ariella  with  her 
friend. 

"  I  told  Baruch,"  observed  Rachel  dryly, 
"  that  he  might  trust  a  she-animal  with  her 
young,  and  Hagaar,  the  mother  of  Ariella, 
against  Malachi,  who  is  naught  but  a  hus 
band." 

But  Ariella  did  not  reply.  She  was  cruelly 
excited  by  all  that  she  had  undergone.  Her 
eyes  and  cheeks  blazed.  She  seemed  like  a 
creature  on  fire.  She  could  neither  speak  nor 
rest.  Her  feverish  glance  shot  about  the  room 
inquiringly. 


COME  FORTH.  205 

"  She  misses  Baruch,"  thought  Rachel,  "  but 
she  will  not  say  so.  Sit  down,  Ariella.  Sit 
and  rest,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Ariella  obeyed  so  far  as  to  seat  herself  upon 
the  nearest  divan.  But  she  told  Rachel  nothing 
at  all.  She  looked  at  her  appealingly.  She 
seemed  unable  to  articulate,  for  weariness  or 
fright. 

"  Thou  art  a  poor  lamb  !  "  cried  Rachel,  in  a 
more  motherly  tone.  "  How  shall  I  comfort 
thee  ?  I  would  that  Baruch  were  here.  My 
heart  is  sore  over  Baruch,  my  son,  for  he  hath 
been  lost  from  me,  this  is  the  sixth  day." 

"  Baruch  ?  "  cried  Ariella,  suddenly  finding 
her  voice.  "  Baruch  lost  ?  Let  me  go  and  find 
him  ! " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  bounded  to  the 
door  wildly,  flung  it  open,  and  dashed  out  into 
the  night.  Rachel  followed  her  with  a  cry  of 
dismay. 

The  blind  man  reached  Bethany  at  dark  of 
the  sixth  evening.  He  dismissed  his  weary  lit 
tle  guide  with  the  ass  and  the  wages  at  the  foot 
of  the  familiar  hill  that  rose  to  his  mother's 
house ;  and,  being  quite  sure  of  his  way  where 
every  pebble,  nay,  every  grain  of  sand,  was  bet 
ter  known  to  him  than  neighbors  and  friends  to 
men  who  see,  he  climbed  the  ascent  alone. 


206  COME  FORTH. 

He  was  exhausted ;  but  he  was  quiet,  and  his 
face  was  filled  with  a  divine  light.  He  walked 
slowly,  with  his  head  bent ;  his  heart  was  full  of 
high  thoughts  ;  he  put  out  his  hand  and  groped 
for  the  latch  of  the  gate. 

As  he  did  this  it  was  flung  open  suddenly, 
and  a  girl's  voice  cried  :  — 

"  Baruch  !  I  come  to  seek  thee,  and  thou  re- 
turnest  to  me.  —  Baruch  !  Baruch  !  " 

Then  the  blind  man  remembered  the  saying 
of  the  Nazarene,  and  he  fell  upon  his  knees  at 
the  gateway  of  his  own  home,  and  he  bowed  his 
head  and  clasped  his  hands  in  prayer. 

"  Lord,"  he  said  aloud,  "  I  call  upon  thy  name 
that  thou  mayest  be  justified  of  thy  works,  and 
mercy  come  to  the  maiden  who  is  dearer  to  me 
than  eyesight  to  the  blind." 

Now,  when  this  had  happened,  Baruch  opened 
his  eyes  and  lifted  his  face,  and  t;  between  the 
opening  and  shutting  of  an  eyelid  "  the  man 
born  blind  looked,  and  behold  he  saw. 

And  what  he  saw  was  the  fairest  sight  in  all 
the  world  to  him :  the  maiden  of  his  heart's 
desire,  Ariella,  bending  forward,  panting  a  lit 
tle  with  her  flight  from  the  house  to  the  gate  ; 
Rachel,  his  mother,  behind  her,  holding  high  a 
torch  that  she  had  snatched  to  follow  the  girl ; 
and  the  fire-red  light  of  the  torch  shining  all 
over  Ariella's  face  and  body.  Her  eyes  burned 


COME  FORTH.  207 

like  stars  in  mid-heaven  ;  her  delicate  lips  were 
parted  ;  her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  the  roses  of 
Sharon  ;  and  her  soft  hair  floated  in  the  wind 
over  her  forehead  and  about  her  sweet  face. 
Her  slender  form  swayed  toward  the  kneeling 
man  ;  her  white  robe  was  blown  against  him ; 
she  stretched  out  her  thin  little  hands. 

"  Thou  God  of  my  people  !  "  cried  the  blind 
man,  "  have  mercy  upon  me,  for  I  do  behold  an 
angel!" 

Now,  at  this,  Rachel,  his  mother,  gave  a 
mighty  cry,  and  flung  down  her  torch  in  ecstasy 
and  terror.  But  Ariella  restrained  her,  took  it 
from  the  ground,  held  it  aloft,  and  stood  re 
splendent  and  self-possessed,  as  if  she  had  been 
an  angel  indeed. 

"  She  whom  thou  beholdest  is  only  a  girl,  dear 
Baruch,"  said  Ariella  gently,  "  and  blesseth 
thee." 

Baruch  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her.  He  did 
not  touch  her.  But  he  lifted  seeing  eyes  to 
Ariella.  Wonder,  awe,  delight,  delirium,  dwelt 
in  them.  The  two  women  who  loved  him  stood 
dumb  before  that  transcendent  look. 

"  Lord,"  said  Baruch,  "  I  bless  thee  that  be 
tween  the  opening  and  closing  of  an  eyelid  I 
have  beheld  the  maiden.  Now  do  with  me  as 
thou  wiliest.  .  .  .  Now,  though  I  return  unto 
my  darkness  forever,  yet  am  I  blessed  of  God 
among  all  seeing  men." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  guest  of  the  High  priest  at  Capernaum 
could  not  sleep.  The  rich  Eastern  starlight  re 
garded  him  soothingly ;  the  wind  had  fallen ; 
the  angry  waters  of  the  lake  were  appeased ;  the 
luxurious  couch  of  Lazarus  wooed  him  to  rest ; 
perfect  stillness  brooded  upon  the  household  of 
Annas  ;  it  was  more  like  the  silence  of  death 
than  of  life,  so  exhausted  were  the  members 
of  the  High  priest's  family.  The  experience  of 
the  evening  had  been  onerous  to  the  comfort- 

O 

able,  Oriental  nature,  which  likes  to  take  things 
easily;  and  from  Annas  to  the  lowest  slave 
within  the  villa,  the  reaction  of  stolid  slumber 
succeeded  to  the  nervous  excitement  of  the  day. 
Zahara  herself  slept  like  a  little  tired  girl.  Only 
Lazarus  kept  watch. 

For  him  it  was  the  wildest  stimulant  to  rest  be 
neath  the  same  roof  which  sheltered  the  woman 
of  his  love.  Accident  had  thrown  to  him  the 
treasure  of  a  chance  which,  in  the  ordinary  social 
course  of  events,  would  never  have  been  his. 
He  dreamed  and  trembled  over  it.  His  heart 
thrilled  with  the  tenderest  fancies,  and  sank 


COME  FORTH.  209 

into  the  saddest  despair.  The  situation,  seen 
from  the  lonely  shore  of  the  lake,  in  shock  and 
storm,  and  in  the  teeth  of  death,  with  Zahara 
clasped  upon  his  heart,  was  one  thing :  the  au 
tocracy  of  love  took  hold  of  it,  and  dashed  it 
into  the  rainbow  colors  and  shapes  of  hope. 
That  Zahara  must  be  his,  somehow,  somewhere, 
seemed  then  only  a  matter  of  course,  the  simplest 
axiom  in  the  problem  of  life.  Now,  viewed  from 
the  villa  of  Annas,  and  from  the  solitude  of  mid 
night,  and  from  the  renewal  of  social  conven 
tions,  the  position  of  the  lovers  looked  to  be  an 
other  matter.  Lazarus  stood  aghast  at  it.  How 
in  the  name  of  love's  dearest  dream  was  he  ever 
to  win  for  wife  the  daughter  of  the  High  priest  ? 
If  he  could  have  snatched  the  girl,  and  seized 
her,  and  away  with  her  upon  the  fleetest  camel 
of  the  desert,  with  Ishmaelite  guards,  unto  some 
Ishmaelite  home,  and  there  cherished  and  pro 
tected  her,  and  adored  her,  and  kept  her  to  him 
self  forever  — 

Visions  such  as  his  maddest  moment  had 
never  known  beset  the  quiet  soul  of  Lazarus. 
His  nature  had  struck  a  tempest.  In  storms 
like  these,  the  calmest,  the  gentlest,  the  purest 
hearts  go  to  wreck.  Lazarus  was  in  a  moral 
whirlwind. 

His  situation  was  complicated  by  the  too 
ready  subterfuge  of  Zahara  concerning  the  man- 


210  COME  FORTH. 

ner  of  her  rescue.  He  had  fallen  into  her  lov 
ing  trap  at  the  moment  in  sheer  happiness  and 
bewilderment.  How  contradict  a  lady  ?  and 
she  the  idol  of  his  life  and  the  daughter  of  his 
host  ?  But  solitude  criticised  Lazarus.  Mid 
night  reviewed  his  position  with  severity.  Sleep 
lessness  said  strange  things  to  him.  Darkness 
held  mute  reproaches  before  him.  Friendship 
and  love  wrestled  together  in  his  tormented  sen 
sibility.  A  touch  calmer  than  Zahara's  recalled 
him.  A  face  graver  than  hers  regarded  him. 
Colder,  purer,  higher,  than  the  delirium  of  love, 
the  eyes  of  duty  looked  into  his  own.  That  sol 
emn  figure,  tall  and  stately,  treading  down  the 
tempest,  walked  with  sacred  feet  throughout  his 
thoughts*  He  remembered  the  Nazarene  with  a 
profound  self -scorn. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dawn,  Lazarus  hastened 
from  his  chamber  into  the  pure,  pink  air.  It 
was  a  peaceful  morning.  The  lake  lay  like  a 
sleeping  baby  in  the  cradle  of  the  hills.  The 
storm  had  freshened  all  the  world.  The  colors 
of  the  trees  and  gardens  seemed  to  throb  with 
life.  Lazarus  stepped  out  among  the  dew- 
dripping  fruit-trees  with  bowed  and  saddened 
head. 

It  was  with  a  sharp  emotion,  half  pain,  half 
pleasure,  that  he  saw,  as  he  turned  back  toward 
the  villa,  the  figure  of  the  High  priest  advancing 


COME  FORTH.  211 

to  meet  him.  Annas  was  alone.  The  two  men 
met  with  unprecedented  cordiality.  The  heart 
of  Lazarus  warmed  toward  the  father  of  Zahara, 
and  that  of  Annas  melted  toward  her  saviour. 
The  High  priest  passed  the  courtesies  of  the 
morning  with  his  guest  in  terms  of  unusual 
heartiness.  He  began  at  once  to  renew  his 
expressions  of  gratitude  for  the  rescue  of  his 
daughter.  It  was  then  that  Lazarus  suddenly, 
almost  violently,  interrupted  him  :  — 

"  Sir,  I  do  wrong  myself  and  you.  No 
longer  can  I  endure  this  miserable  position.  If 
I  tacitly  accept  the  false,  falseness  enters  into 
me.  I  must  undeceive  you  at  once." 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  the  High  priest,  looking 
slightly  startled,  "  to  what  circumstance  or  cir 
cumstances  can  your  language  possibly  refer  ?  " 

"  To  the  strangest  of  circumstances,  and  the 
most  difficult  to  explain  —  to  yourself." 

"  Why,  indeed,  to  myself  ?  "  asked  the  priest, 
with  a  haughty  curl  of  the  lip.  "  Am  I  so  dull 
of  intellect  that  the  events  of  life  may  not  be 
made  comprehensible  to  my  mind  ?  " 

Lazarus  bowed,  with  a  deprecating  motion  of 
the  hand,  which  was  reply  enough  to  the  sar 
casm  of  the  priest.  After  a  moment's  silence 
he  said  abruptly  :  — 

"  It  was  not  I  who  saved  the  life  of  the  lady 
Zahara,  your  daughter.  Would  that  I  could 


212  COME  FORTH. 

claim  a  privilege  too  valuable  to  have  been  ac 
corded  by  heaven  to  me." 

The  High  priest  gave  his  guest  a  narrow  look, 
quick  as  the  flash  of  a  scimitar,  and  as  quickly 
sheathed. 

"  To  whom,  then,  if  not  yourself,  my  worthy 
sir,  am  I  indebted  for  this  heaviest  of  obliga 
tions  ?  " 

"  To  the  last  man  in  Judea  from  whom  you 
will  desire  to  receive  it." 

Lazarus  brought  these  words  out  in  a  prompt, 
ringing  tone.  The  man  in  him  was  aroused. 
His  fine  conscience  was  throbbing.  At  least, 
truth  sat  in  his  soul.  To  deny  his  friend  by  re 
maining  in  a  false  position  began  to  seem  intol 
erable  to  him.  Better  even  to  dis.please  Zahara. 
He  had  arrived  as  far  as  that.  His  breath 
came  more  freely,  and  he  lifted  his  handsome 
head. 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  the  priest  curtly. 
Annas  had  stopped  his  lordly  pace  through  the 
garden,  and  the  two  men  now  stood  still,  facing 
each  other  beneath  a  clump  of  thick  fig-trees 
that  hid  them  from  the  view  of  the  villa. 

"  The  lady,"  said  Lazarus  in  a  low,  distinct 
tone,  "  was  rescued  by  Jesus  the  Nazarene." 

The  face  of  the  High  priest  darkened  slowly, 
but  perceptibly.  He  received  this  announce 
ment  in  utter  silence. 


COME   FORTH.  213 

"  My  daughter,"  he  observed  at  length,  in  a 
cutting  tone,  "  testifieth  otherwise." 

"Far  be  it  from  me,"  hurriedly  protested 
Lazarus,  losing  something  of  the  dignity  of  his 
manner  of  a  moment  ago,  in  the  tender  tremu- 
lousness  of  his  desire  to  protect  Zahara,  "  be  it 
farther  from  me  than  from  any  man  in  all  the 
world  to  criticise  the  lady  Zahara,  or  to  question 
the  truth  of  her  words  in  whose  soul  honor  itself 
maketh  a  white  home  !  " 

"Then  be  so  good,"  said  the  priest,  somewhat 
mollified,  but  more  than  ever  keenly  observant 
of  his  guest,  "as  to  explain  to  me  the  discrep 
ancy  in  your  own  language." 

"  The  lady,"  replied  Lazarus  boldly,  "  was,  in 
brief,  too  nearly  dead  to  know  who  bore  her 
from  the  water.  She  was  unconscious  from  the 
shock  and  exposure.  Judging  from  her  state 
when  I  did  first  see  her,  I  should  say  she  must 
have  sunk  already  twice  beneath  the  waters  of 
Gennesaret.  She  was  snatched  from  death  it 
self,  and  laid  upon  the  shore  at  my  feet,  not  one 
moment  too  soon,  believe  me.  He  who  did  save 
her  left  her  immediately,  and  departed  from 
me.  I  restored  the  lady,  and  I  brought  her  to 
her  father.  My  service  to  her  began  and  ended 
thus  and  there." 

Annas  had  listened  to  these  words  with  emo 
tion,  but  it  was  one  mixed  with  displeasure, 


214  COME  FORTH. 

incredulity,  and  annoyance  of  the  keenest 
kind. 

"  You  were  probably  mistaken,"  he  observed, 
"  in  the  identity  of  the  man  who  rescued  her." 

"  I  was  not  mistaken,"  said  Lazarus  decidedly  ; 
"  he  is  rny  friend.  I  know  him  well.  As  well 
could  I  be  mistaken  in  the  identity  of  one  of 
the  sons  of  God  if  I  had  met  one  upon  the  earth. 
He  who  did  save  thy  daughter  was  the  Nazarene, 
and  none  other;  and  unto  him  is  thine  obliga 
tion,  and  should  thy  gratitude  be  due." 

"  He  swam  for  her,  I  suppose,"  remarked  the 
High  priest,  coldly.  uHe  must  be  a  good 
swimmer." 

"  I  did  as  much  as  that  myself,"  urged  Laz 
arus  eagerly,  "but  the  waters  beat  me  back. 
You  should  understand  that  the  lake  was  a 
whirlpool.  I  know  no  man  who  could  swim  a 
stadium  upon  a  sea  like  that,  and  bear  a,  help 
less  woman  on  his  arm.  The  Nazarene  trod  the 
sea,  as  you,  sir,  do  tread  the  path  of  this  garden. 
He  arose  and  walked  and  bore  the  maiden,  and 
stepped  upon  the  waters  and  conquered  them, 
and  trod  as  a  man  treadeth  a  floor,  and  laid  her 
on  the  shore  and  vanished,  and  was  seen  no 
more  of  me  or  of  the  maiden.  This  is  the  truth 
of  God,"  concluded  Lazarus,  "  and  I  do  tell  it. 
Do  with  me  as  you  see  fit." 

"  It  is  an  extraordinary  tale,"  said  the  High 


COME  FORTH.  215 

priest,  not  without  hesitation.  But  his  counte 
nance  had  grown  as  stern  as  a  stone  intaglio. 
He  turned  upon  his  heel  abruptly,  and  without 
another  word  left  his  guest  standing  alone 
beneath  the  fig-tree. 

The  position  of  Lazarus  at  the  villa  was  now 
so  uncomfortable  that  he  was  thoroughly  per 
plexed.  For  some  days  the  High  priest  did  not 
again  receive  his  guest.  The  builder  began  his 
work  in  silent  perplexity.  Zahara  was  invisible. 
Lazarus  set  himself  to  his  task  with  an  absent 
mind.  Upon  the  third  day  he  gathered  himself, 
and  sent  a  dignified  message  to  his  host  by  voice 
of  the  chief  officer  of  the  household,  quietly 
requesting  permission  to  be  allowed  to  return  to 
his  khan.  Annas  responded  in  person  to  this 
message.  His  manner  was  studiedly  polite,  but 
his  eye  was  cold  and  guarded.  He  began  by 
entreating  Lazarus  to  accept  his  further  hospi 
tality,  adorning  the  request  with  the  full  flower 
of  Oriental  emphasis,  as  etiquette  from  host  to 
guest  demanded. 

Lazarus  replied  with  equal  courtesy,  but 
repeated  his  desire  to  leave  the  villa. 

"  It  occurs  to  me,"  he  said,  "  that  it  may  be 
more  convenient  for  several  reasons,  and  I  pray 
your  permission  to  depart.  I  am  too  much 
indebted  to  your  politeness  already." 

"  The  obligation  is  upon  me,  and  it  is  heavy," 


216  COME  FORTH. 

replied  Annas,  with  much  manner,  "  and  of  the 
pleasure  which  it  gives  me  to  entertain  you,  you 
must  allow  me  to  be  the  judge." 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  Lazarus  frankly, 
"  that  you  are  under  no  obligation  to  myself. 
That  burden  resteth  elsewhere,  as  I  did  some 
what  tardily  explain  to  you." 

"  It  is  expecting  too  much  of  me,"  answered 
the  High  priest,  frowning,  "to  recognize  the 
obligation  to  which  you  refer.  I  prefer  to  con 
sider  yourself  as  its  representative." 

"I  must  decline,"  said  Lazarus,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  to  be  the  representative  of  such  beneficence  and 
such  purity  —  of  power  as  far  beyond  me  as  the 
crown  of  Olivet  is  above  the  basin  of  Genne- 
saret.  I  must  decline  in  any  sense  to  represent 
One  of  whose  least  remembrance  I  am  un 
worthy." 

"  It  is  amazing  to  me,"  said  the  High  priest, 
in  a  wary  tone,  "  that  a  man  of  your  intelligence 
should  be  thus  deluded.  The  popular  excite 
ment  about  this  fellow  is  growing  a  serious  mat 
ter.  Times  are  ripening  wherein  it  may  no 
longer  be  a  safe  play  of  the  tongue  for  people  of 
your  sort  to  allude,  in  this  way,  to  so  dangerous 
a  political  character." 

"  I  must  beg  you  to  understand,"  replied 
Lazarus,  "that  I  indulge  in  no  play  of  the 
tongue  when  I  do  mention  the  name  of  him 
whom  above  all  human  beings  I  do  revere." 


COME   FORTH.  217 

"  There  are  those,  I  am  told,"  suggested  the 
priest  suavely,  "who  do  not  regard  this  pre 
tender  as  precisely  what  may  be  called  a  human 
being.  I  learn  that  he  sets  forth  imperious  and 
awful  claims.  Know  you  of  them  ?  " 

"  Of  that  to  which  you  refer  I  know  naught," 
answered  Lazarus  distinctly.  The  two  men 
looked  each  other  narrowly  in  the  eye.  Lazarus 
was  a  poor  disciple  in  those  days,  but  at  least  he 
was  no  traitor.  He  proceeded  with  a  fearless 
voice  to  say  :  — 

"  As  concerneth  his  politics,  I  know  naught  of 
them  either.  I  have  never  regarded  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  as  a  politician." 

"As  what,  then,  have  you  regarded  him?" 
demanded  the  High  priest. 

"As  the  best  man,  the  wisest  public  ben 
efactor,  the  tenderest  consoler,  and  the  truest 
friend  I  ever  knew,"  responded  Lazarus  sol 
emnly.  "  But  as  for  me,  I  am  not  worthy  to 
testify  so  much  as  these  poor  words  concerning 
him.  As  I  have  told  you,  I  have  been  preoccu 
pied,  I  have  not  acquainted  myself  of  late,  as  I 
should  have  done,  with  his  affairs." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you  !  "  said  Annas 
sharply.  "  See  to  it,  sir  builder,  that  you  drop 
this  acquaintance,  and  you  may  find  that  the 
time  cometh  when  you  will  thank  me  for  a  word 
of  advice,  which  is  the  least  I  can  offer  to  the 
rescuer  of  my  daughter." 


218  COME   FORTH. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good  intentions,"  said 
Lazarus,  after  a  moment's  hesitating-  silence, 
"  and  I  appreciate  them,  but  nevertheless  I  beg 
to  be  allowed  to  return  unto  my  khan." 

"  Remain  at  least  until  the  morrow,"  urged 
the  High  priest,  looking,  nevertheless,  relieved 
by  the  determination  of  his  guest. 

"  I  will  accept  your  hospitality,"  said  Lazarus 
politely,  "  until  the  morrow." 

That  afternoon,  as  the  builder  directed  his 
men  upon  the  walls  of  the  new  extension,  the 
slave  Rebecca  passed  upon  some  errand,  draw 
ing  so  near  that  the  wind  blew  her  garment 
against  him.  She  held  a  little  silver  cup  in  one 
hand,  which,  as  she  passed,  she  was  so  awkward 
as  to  overset  upon  the  ground.  The  contents 
were  spilled,  and  Rebecca  made  a  great  show  of 
distress. 

"  Alas !  "  she  moaned,  "  it  is  the  cordial  for 
my  lady,  and  it  is  destroyed !  " 

Lazarus  sprang  to  help  the  maiden,  and  to 
pick  up  the  silver  cup  and  its  heavily  chased 
cover  from  the  ground.  The  cup  was  lined  with 
gold.  Some  cool  drink  which  it  had  contained 
was  spilled  entirely.  But  pressed  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  cup  Lazarus  saw  a  bit  of  white  wax 
upon  which  writing  was  inscribed.  His  fingers 
closed  over  it  instinctively.  Rebecca  the  slave 
saw  nothing,  or  made  as  if  she  saw  nothing. 


COME  FORTH.  219 

Lazarus  scanned  the  tablet,  and  concealed  it  in 
the  folds  of  his  talith. 

As  soon  as  he  could  make  an  unobserved  mo 
ment,  he  read  the  writing  with  wild  eagerness. 
It  ran  like  this,  in  Aramaic  characters :  — 

"Cancel  thy  contract.  Leave  Capernaum. 
At  dark-fall  of  the  Sabbath  after  the  Sabbath 
to  come,  be  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  at  the  place 
thou  knovtest.  ZAHARA." 

Lazarus  obeyed  this  order  without  a  moment's 
doubt  or  hesitation.  Upon  the  following  day  he 
represented  to  Annas  that  inasmuch  as  their  re 
lations  had  become  strained  and  unpleasant  it 
might  be  more  agreeable  upon  both  sides  if  the 
work  upon  the  villa  were  deferred.  The  High 
priest  received  this  suggestion  with  courteous 
regrets,  but  with  evident  approval.  He  ex 
pressed  the  wish  to  protect  the  builder  hand 
somely  from  any  pecuniary  loss  to  which  the 
sundered  contract  might  make  him  liable. 

"  Pay  to  my  men  the  wages  due  them,"  re 
plied  Lazarus  ;  "  for  myself,  I  prefer  to  meet  the 
loss.  It  is  naught.  I  have  other  engagements. 
I  return  to  Bethany  at  once." 

Thus  the  High  priest  and  his  builder  parted. 
Every  show  of  courtesy  attended  the  departure 
of  Lazarus  and  his  men,  who  were  escorted  far 
upon  their  journey  by  the  officers  and  servants 
of  the  High  priest.  It  was  given  out  in  Caper- 


220  COME  FORTH. 

naum  that  the  work  was  simply  delayed  until 
the  family  should  be  absent  from  the  villa ;  the 
inconvenience  of  building  during  their  occupa 
tion  proving  greater  than  had  been  anticipated. 

Lazarus  sent  no  message  to  Zahara.  He 
thought  it  safer  not  to  do  so.  Then,  as  now,  a 
woman  often  managed  such  affairs  more  deftly 
and  with  less  danger.  He  returned  to  Bethany, 
a  silent,  abstracted  man,  counting  the  hours  till 
the  meeting  which  Zahara  had  appointed. 

The  precious  moment  came  at  last.  Lazarus 
had  made  the  journey  unattended,  except  by 
a  single  servant,  his  confidential  man  Abraham, 
a  fellow  silent  as  the  great  Sphinx.  How  Za 
hara  had  managed  her  part  of  the  meeting  only 
Zahara  knew.  She  was  quite  alone.  It  was  a 
wild  night,  stormy  and  dark ;  so  stormy  that 
Lazarus  had  suffered  a  thousand  terrors  lest  his 
scanty  comfort  should  be  denied  him.  But  there 
on  the  beach,  in  the  desolate  spot  where  the 
Nazarene  had  left  her  at  his  feet,  a  drowning 
girl,  Lazarus  found  her,  trembling,  a  brave  and 
loving  woman,  waiting  for  her  lord. 

They  met  with  tears  and  smiles,  caresses  and 
cautions,  hopes  and  despairs,  with  all  the  tumult 
of  the  loving  and  denied.  Their  words  were 
few.  Zahara  stood  palpitating  in  his  arms.  She 
was  frightened  at  her  own  brave  deed.  Every 
moment  now  was  as  dangerous  as  it  was  dear. 


CO. WE  FORTH.  221 

"  It  stormeth  so  !  "  whispered  Zahara.  "  I  did 
not  think  it  would  be  quite  so  wet,  but  surely  no 
one  will  suspect  me.  Who  will  think  I  could  be 
without  the  villa  on  a  night  like  this  ?  Rebecca 
guardeth  my  chamber  and  watcheth  at  the  en 
trance  to  let  me  in.  I  do  but  fly  hither  and  fly 
back  again,  like  a  dove  that  returneth  to  its  own 
nest.  I  love  thee,  Lazarus  !  I  love  thee,  and  I 
warn  thee,  trust  not  the  High  priest,  my  father, 
for  he  groweth  distrustful  of  thee.  And,  Laza 
rus  !  O  Lazarus,  my  lord,  be  not  angry  with 
thy  Zahara,  but  I  did  fly  hither  to  desire  of  thee 
somewhat  further." 

"  Anything !  "  cried  Lazarus  rapturously,  clasp 
ing  the  wet  and  trembling  form  of  the  girl  to  his 
heart.  "  Anything  thou  desirest,  that  do  I  for 
love's  sake  and  thine  own." 

"  Then  abandon  the  Nazarene,"  whispered 
Zahara. 

The  arms  of  the  young  man  dropped.  He  re 
treated  a  step  from  her,  and  Zahara  stood  totter 
ing,  alone  in  the  hard  weather.  It  beat  upon 
her,  and  she  looked  so  tender  and  delicate  and 
cruelly  treated  as  she  stood  there,  daring  the 
storm,  and  more  than  the  storm,  for  his  sake, 
that  the  soul  of  Lazarus  was  wrung  within  him. 

44  Abandon  the  Nazarene  !  "  repeated  Zahara 
plaintively.  "  For  love's  sake  and  thine  own 
and  Zahara's." 

"  Anything  else,   Zahara !  "   wailed  Lazarus. 


222  COME  FORTH. 

"  Ask  of  me  anything  but  this,  my  own  !  Try 
not  the  soul  of  him  who  loveth  thee  as  woman 
was  never  loved,  by  demanding  of  him  the  only 
thing  he  cannot  do  for  thee,  Zahara  !  " 

"  I  must  return,"  said  Zahara  dully.  "  My 
errand  has  been  as  naught.  I  am  exposed  to 
the  storm  and  the  night,  and  to  perils  of  the 
road,  and  to  the  anger  of  my  father,  for  thy  sake, 
—  and  thou  refusest  me,  Lazarus,  thou  refusest 
me  a  trifling  boon  that  any  slave  girl  in  Judea 
might  demand  of  her  lover,  and  not  be  thought 
presuming.  Farewell,  my  lord,  for  I  do  tarry 
too  long  with  thee,  at  too  great  a  cost." 

She  lifted  her  wet,  sweet  arms,  and  he  took 
her  to  his  breast.  She  lifted  her  beautiful  lips, 
and  his  pressed  them.  If  Zahara  had  shown 
anger,  or  irnperiousness,  or  cold  displeasure  at 
that  moment,  Lazarus  could  have  withstood  her 
manfully  enough  ;  but  her  womanly,  sad  tender 
ness  was  a  terrible  weapon. 

"  Zahara  !  "  he  cried,  "  Zahara  !  How  can  I 
refuse  thee  ?  And  how  can  I  obey  thee  ?  Kiss 
me,  and  teach  me !  Kill  me,  or  bless  me  !  How 
can  I  wrong  my  own  soul?  And  how  can  I 
grieve  thine  ?  " 

"  That  is  for  thee  to  discover,"  said  Zahara. 
With  a  long  kiss,  and  a  darting  motion  quick  as 
a  bird's  in  mid-heaven,  Zahara  released  herself 
from  his  arms,  and  fled  back  through  the  storm 
as  she  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"LORD,"  whispered  Baruch,  "Lord,  I  did  ask 
naught  of  thee,  and  thou  hast  given  me  all !  " 

He  uttered  these  words  in  an  awed,  breath 
less  voice,  with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  spake 
to  some  person  quite  near  him.  His  face  was 
upturned,  his  hands  were  clasped,  he  had  fallen 
upon  his  knees. 

Ariella  stood  before  him,  shining  and  sweet ; 
she  smiled  while  Baruch  prayed.  But  his  mo 
ther  wept  for  joy,  and  bowed  her  head  upon  her 
hands.  The  man  born  blind  had  said  :  — 

"  My  mother,  I  behold  thee !  Thou  hast  a 
dear  countenance.  Let  me  look  upon  it  while  I 
can."  This  was  hours  ago,  and  still  the  wonder 
held.  No  return  of  their  lifelong  darkness  had 
visited  those  afflicted  eyes.  As  the  night  had 
passed  on,  the  rather  Baruch  testified  that  his 
vision  clarified.  From  cloud  and  haze,  and  float 
ing,  shining  spots,  and  wavering  phantasms,  and 
dizzy  vagaries  of  light  and  shade,  firm  outline 
grew,  and  perspective  took  her  place,  and  the 
laws  of  optics  slowly  and  surely  asserted  them 
selves.  After  the  first  thrill  of  delight  in  the 


224  COME   FORTH. 

sight  of  Ariella,  and  the  natural  movement  of 
tenderness  toward  his  mother,  a  profound  reli 
gious  emotion  had  seized  the  devout  nature  of 
the  blind  man.  He  had  passed  much  of  the 
night  in  a  rapture  of  prayer  which  the  two  wo 
men  dared  not  disturb. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  whispered  Rachel  through 
her  happy  tears  ;  "  give  him  his  way.  He  al 
ways  liked  it  as  well  as  men  with  eyes.  Pray 
ing  is  safe  business,  and  keeps  him  out  of  harm's 
way,  till  his  sight  be  stronger,  if,  praise  to  God, 
it  doth  remain  unto  him.  But  for  my  part,  I 
had  rather  he  slept  for  a  space.  There  's  no 
thing  weareth  upon  the  eyes  like  watching." 

"I  would  that  He  were  here  who  hath  per 
formed  this  marvel,"  murmured  Ariella.  "He 
would  direct  us  what  to  do.  He  knoweth  all 
things." 

"  If  that  be  the  case,  he  knoweth  enough  to 
manage  his  own  cures,"  retorted  Rachel's  prac 
tical  sense.  "  Would  that  he  were  here,  that 
I  might  fall  down  and  worship  him  !  But  I 
should  leave  him  to  attend  to  his  own  affairs. 
I  should  not  say,  '  Lord,  shall  my  son  do  thus  ? 
Must  my  son  do  so?'  Women  do  displease 
men  by  that  manner  of  prattle ;  and  I  suppose 
he  is  a  man,  after  all,"  added  Rachel.  "  I  'm 
sure  I  don't  know  what  else  to  call  him." 

While  the  women  whispered  together,  Baruch 
silently  prayed  on. 


COME  FORTH.  225 

Toward  morning  Ariella  slipped  away  to  her 
own  couch,  and  slept ;  for  she  was  weary  with 
the  accumulating  excitement  of  the  day.  To 
the  invalid,  for  years  confined  to  the  little  world 
of  the  sick-room,  the  recent  events  of  life  were 
nothing  less  than  tremendous.  Her  scale  of  es 
timate  was  so  fine  that  such  experiences  were  to 
her  soul  as  wars  to  the  history  of  nations.  The 
cure  of  the  blind  man,  crowning  the  whole,  al 
most  stunned  the  girl.  She  slept  from  sheer 
exhaustion,  long  and  heavily. 

Mother  and  son  remained  together  in  the 
familiar  room.  Rachel  watched  Baruch  like  a 
tigress  her  young.  Baruch  seemed  almost  un 
conscious  of  her.  He  had  fallen  into  a  spiritual 
ecstasy. 

Truly,  it  seemed  that  this  unusual  man  cared 
less,  in  that  hour  of  his  deliverance  from  the 
worst  of  human  afflictions,  for  the  newly  revealed 
and  precious  power  of  sight  than  he  did  that 
the  attitude  of  his  own  soul  toward  the  source  of 
this  incredible  mercy  might  be  the  right  one. 
He  was,  in  short,  too  nearly  overcome  with 
gratitude  to  God  and  to  the  Healer  to  be  tri 
vially  diverted  by  the  marvels  of  vision. 

"  If  thou  wouldst  slop  praying  long  enough  to 
get  a  nap,"  suggested  his  mother  at  last,  "  thou 
couldst  begin  again  afterwards." 

"  I  do  but  grow  stronger  as  I  pray,"  replied 


226  COME   FORTH. 

Baruch  gently;  "behind  my  eyeballs  I  feel 
weakness  strengthen,  and  power  eometh  upon 
me,  as  if  it  were  the  moving  of  an  unseen  force. 
But  thou  art  my  mother,  and  I  obey  thee." 

With  these  childlike  words  Baruch  turned 
like  a  little  boy,  laid  his  head  upon  his  mother's 
knees,  and  slept.  Rachel  put  her  thin,  elderly 
hands  upon  his  curling  hair.  Her  tears  fell 
silently.  She  dared  not  move.  She  sat  till 
dawn,  and  blessed  him.  Only  she  who  has 
borne  an  afflicted  child  can  understand  the 
thoughts  of  Rachel. 

Commotion  ruled  the  house  of  Malachi.  It 
was  morning ;  in  fact,  the  banners  of  the  early 
day  were  well  unfurled  upon  the  fairest  of  skies 
and  unto  the  gayest  of  breezes.  It  was  a  cool 
day,  when  people  are  easily  astir  in  Eastern 
countries,  and  the  crowd  in  front  of  the  house 
was  larger  than  usual.  Rumor  had  gone  softly, 
but  had  whispered  that  unusual  occurrences 
were  taking  place  within  the  house  of  the  Phar 
isee.  It  was  impossible  to  make  out  what ;  and 
curiosity  invented  tale  upon  tale. 

The  fact  was  nothing  more  than  Malachi's 
discovery  of  the  flight  of  Ariella.  Of  this  event 
Hagaar,  her  mother,  was  the  most  innocent 
woman  alive.  She  had  waked  her  lord  from  his 
sonorous  slumbers,  at  a  late  hour,  with  the  agi- 


COME  FORTH.  227 

tated  announcement  that  the  bed  of  Ariella  was 
empty.  Malachi  sprang  and  cursed.  Hagaar 
paled  and  wept.  He  stormed  and  commanded. 
She  searched  and  sighed.  He  accused  her  of 
complicity  in  the  trick.  She  denied  it  in  the 
name  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  by  the 
souls  of  the  prophets,  and  by  the  house  of 
David.  He  fell  into  a  fury,  and  she  dropped 
upon  her  knees.  He  made  as  if  he  would  have 
rushed  from  the  house  to  discover  and  secure 
the  maiden.  But  a  glance  at  the  gathering 
mob  in  front  of  his  gates  deterred  him.  In 
vain  Hagaar  entreated  him,  shrewdly:  "Go,  my 
lord,  go  forth  !  Hasten  and  seek  thy  daughter, 
lest  harm  befall  her.  Go  thou  and  gain  news 
of  Ariella,  or  my  heart  will  be  broken  within 
me." 

"Nay,  then,  since  thou  askest,  that  I  will 
not !  "  retorted  her  husband.  "  The  damsel  may 
go  and  crucify  herself,  for  aught  I  will  bestir 
myself  for  her  !  ''' 

At  this  moment  the  clamor  of  the  people 
arose  shrilly  :  — 

"  The  maiden  !  The  maiden  !  Give  us  news 
of  the  maiden  on  whom  the  miracle  was  wrought ! 
Come  forth,  Malachi,  thou  double-faced  Phari 
see,  and  account  for  her !  " 

Upon  this,  Malachi  flung  open  the  door.  His 
disordered  appearance  and  agitated  face  added 


228  COME  FORTH. 

to  the  jeers  of  the  crowd.  As  soon  as  he  began 
to  speak,  a  hum  of  sarcastic  sympathy  arose. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  cried  a  rough  voice,  "  we  are 
come  to  mourn  with  him  over  his  domestic  mis 
fortunes.  Such  a  calamity  is  it,  —  an  invalid 
daughter ! " 

"  And  mine,  O  my  neighbors,"  protested 
Malachi,  "  is  greatly  increased  of  her  infirmity. 
Ariella  lieth  in  my  house,  the  most  helpless, 
whining  woman  of  them  all.  But  I  may  not 
upbraid  her,  for  I  fear  me  for  the  nature  of  her 
disease,  which  groweth  violent  upon  her.  I  do 
greatly  fear  me  that  this  sickness  is  unto  death. 
Condole  with  me,  O  my  neighbors,  and  spare  me 
these  numerous  expressions  of  your  sympathy. 
Go  ye  your  ways,  I  do  entreat  you,  and  leave  an 
afflicted  household  in  peace  unto  itself." 

At  this  instant,  the  crowd  parted  with  a  kind 
of  electric  shock.  The  wildest  voice  hushed. 
In  the  silence  of  stupefaction  the  people  divided 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  fell  back. 

Straight  through  them,  erect,  strong,  fair,  and 
smiling,  walked  Ariella.  She  was  led  by  Baruch, 
the  man  born  blind.  He  turned  his  face  upon 
his  neighbors,  with  bright,  conscious,  seeing 
eyes.  Behind  them  walked  Rachel,  quivering 
with  joy. 

"  Behold !  "  she  cried  shrilly.  "  Behold  my 
son,  who  was  born  as  blind  as  any  mummy  in 


COME  FORTH.  229 

the  sepulchres  of  Egypt !  No  man  in  Bethany 
seeth  better  than  Baruch  seeth  on  this  day. 
The  Nazarene  hath  wrought  the  deed.  Behold 
the  maiden  whom  he  hath  healed !  Behold  my 
son  to  whom  he  hath  given  eyes  that  nature  did 
deny  him !  Behold  Baruch  !  Behold  Ariella  ! 
Bless  the  Nazarene  !  " 

"  The  Nazarene  !     The  Nazarene  !  " 

The  crowd  took  up  the  cry.  It  rose  and 
swelled  with  a  mighty  shout.  The  morning  air 
throbbed  with  it. 

"  He  hath  wrought  a  wonder  in  our  midst 
such  as  no  man  knoweth  of  until  this  day. 
Where  is  the  Nazarene  ?  Bless  him  !  Crown 
him  !  Call  him  !  Jesus  of  Nazareth  be  glori 
fied  in  Bethany  from  this  hour  !  " 

But  Ariella  and  Baruch  fell  upon  their  knees 
at  the  sound  of  that  precious  name  ;  and  there, 
among  all  the  people,  they  offered  thanks  unto 
Jehovah  because  of  him,  and  forgot  the  people 
and  forgot  the  clamor,  and  remembered  nothing 
but  their  own  once  miserable  plight,  and  his 
power  and  mercy  who  had  snatched  them  from 
it. 

But  the  mood  of  the  people  was  not  so  sol 
emn  ;  and  another  cry  quickly  replaced  the  name 
of  the  Nazarene. 

"  Malachi !  Malachi  the  Pharisee  !  Have 
him  out  !  Have  out  the  father  who  denieth  the 


230  COME   FORTH. 

marvel  wrought  upon  his  daughter,  and  tricketh 
the  people  of  Bethany  and  of  Jerusalem !  Have 
him  out  unto  us  I  " 

Before  any  calmer  spirit  could  interfere,  the 
roughs  of  the  crowd  had  burst  open  the  door  of 
the  house,  and  seized  the  cursing,  shaking  Mal- 
achi  from  behind  a  curtain  where  he  had  ino-lo- 

O 

riously  hidden.  They  had  him  out,  indeed. 
They  tore  him  out  and  tossed  him  to  and  fro, 
and,  in  default  of  a  pool  to  plunge  him  in, 
fetched  water,  and  soused  him  smartly  till  he 
was  like  to  drown.  In  the  sputtering  and  ex 
hausted  condition  consequent  on  this  treatment, 
they  rolled  him  down  the  hill  till  he  was  clothed 
with  dust  and  well-nigh  suffocated.  Somewhat 
appeased  by  his  abject  appearance,  and  by  the 
hard  exercise  consequent  on  the  handling  they 
had  given  him,  the  crowd  now  returned  the  un 
lucky  man  to  his  house.  Here  they  forced  him 
upon  his  own  bed,  and  tied  him  thereupon  with 
strips  of  the  coverlets  till  he  lay  bound  hand  and 
foot. 

"  Lie  there,"  shouted  a  merry  voice,  "  till  you 
have  learned  what  it  is  like  to  be  bedridden, 
and  arise  not  till  she  whom  you  have  wronged 
shall  have  the  mind  to  free  you  !  If  the  maiden 
taketh  our  advice,  she  will  let  you  stay,  where  we 
do  leave  you,  for  this  many  a  day  to  come  !  " 

With  this,  the  people  departed,  leaving  the 


COME  FORTH.  231 

thoroughly  subjugated  Pharisee  to  the  mercy  of 
his  women. 

Now,  among  the  happy  marvels  crowding  the 
blind  man's  experience  in  these  wonderful  days, 
certain  circumstances  may  have  interest  for  those 
who  are  inclined  by  nature  to  view  a  wonder  al 
ways  from  its  natural  or  scientific  side.  Many 
curious  incidents  befell  Baruch  in  the  first  use 
of  his  eyesight.  Common  objects  had  phenome 
nal  proportions  for  him. 

"  What  manner  of  man  is  this  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  olive-tree  of  Beth 
any.  The  sight  of  the  mountain-top  covered 
him  with  perplexity.  He  said  that  he  had 
thought  it  like  a  timbrel ;  but  this  was  like  a 
trumpet.  At  the  view  of  the  great  desert  of 
Judea,  Baruch  was  overcome.  He  remained 
silent  before  it  for  a  long  time ;  and  when  he 
was  spoken  to,  he  was  found  to  be  in  tears. 

"  The  lives  of  all  the  blind  and  sick  of  all  the 
world  lie  there,1'  he  said. 

At  his  first  sight  of  the  sunset  he  fell  upon 
his  knees. 

"  Behold,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  the  garment  of 
the  living  God !  " 

When  the  full  moon  flooded  Judea,  Baruch 
walked  forth  unto  the  brows  of  Olivet.  Here  he 
remained  for  that  night,  until  the  dawn,  alone. 


232  COME  FORTH. 

His  mother  followed  him  for  a  space,  but,  when 
she  saw  the  high  look  upon  his  enraptured  face, 
she  turned  back  and  left  him  to  his  solitary 
ecstasy.  At  dawn,  he  returned  to  her,  and 
said  :  — 

"  The  moon  is  a  lady.  She  is  of  high  birth. 
The  earth  is  her  lover,  and  worshipeth  her  from 
afar.  I  have  witnessed  the  loves  of  earth  and 
heaven." 

"  Mother,"  added  Baruch,  after  some  thought, 
"  why  might  not  Ariella  have  accompanied  me 
to  the  mountain,  as  I  did  beseech  her  ?  I  lacked 
Ariella.  I  had  seen  two  moons  with  Ariella. 
She  withdraweth  from  me." 

"Because  thou  art  no  longer  a  blind  boy," 
returned  Rachel,  "  but  a  whole  man.  Thou 
must  deal  with  the  maiden  like  other  men." 

"  I  deal  with  her  as  the  earth  dealeth  with  the 
moon,"  said  Baruch. 

"  But  that  is  no  way  to  treat  a  girl,"  retorted 
Rachel.  "  There  is  no  moonshine  about  Ariella. 
She  hath  as  good  sense,  for  that  matter,  as  any 
girl  I  know.  She  knoweth,  if  thou  dost  not,  that 
except  and  until  she  wed  thee,  she  must  withhold 
herself  from  thee.  Ye  are  no  longer  two  poor 
fools  of  affliction,  set  apart  from  the  laws  of  God 
and  men,  that  ye  may  be  trusted  together  by  the 
hour,  as  of  old.  All  Bethany —  nay,  all  Jeru 
salem,  for  the  fame  of  the  wonder  hath  gone 


COME  FORTH.  233 

abroad  —  would  teach  ye  better,  in  the  gossip 
of  one  day." 

"  But  why  did  not  Ariella  tell  me  so?"  pro 
tested  Baruch  naively.  "  She  said  unto  me  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  climb  the  mountain." 

•"  Why  doth  a  damsel  not  woo  a  man,  in 
deed?"  cried  Rachel,  laughing  loudly.  "  Yerily, 
my  son,  thou  provest  thyself  born  blind  in  spite 
of  the  miracle." 

Baruch  blushed,  and  was  silent.  In  a  few 
moments  he  said  carelessly,  as  if  he  sought 
rather  to  divert  than  to  continue  the  conversa 
tion  :  — 

"  When  I  behold  Ariella,  I  behold  two  Ari- 
ellas.  This  perplexes  me.  With  one  eye  I  do 
see  the  old  Ariella,  a  poor  maiden,  thin  and  ten 
der,  lying  on  her  long  lonely  couch.  With  the 
other  I  behold  the  new  Ariella:  she  springeth 
and  walketh  to  and  fro ;  she  is  like  the  sunrise ; 
she  hath  an  eye  like  a  waterfall.  Always  do  I 
behold  the  two  Ariellas." 

If  Rachel  had  been  a  modern  scientific  stu 
dent,  she  would  probably  have  suggested  "  astig 
matism  "  to  Baruch,  as  an  explanation  of  his 
peculiar  visual  condition.  As  it  was,  she  only 
remarked  that  she  supposed  this  was  part  of  the 
miracle. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  Baruch's  attachment 
to  Ariella  had  suffered  default  in  consequence 


234  COME  FORTH. 

of  his  supreme  experience.  But  it  was  true 
for  a  time,  at  least,  that  a  higher  absorption 
seemed  to  add  a  fine  excitement  to  his  condition. 
Baruch's  desire  to  behold  Him  who  had  wrought 
the  wonder'  upon  his  own  life  amounted  to  a 
fever.  Since  his  journey  he  had  again  sought 
for  the  Nazarene  everywhere,  but  this  time  in 
vain.  It  was  rumored  that  Jesus  was  traveling 
in  Perea,  a  heathen  place,  pityingly  regarded, 
where,  if  there  were  anything  in  the  new  reli 
gion,  it  was  sadly  needed ;  at  any  rate,  the  Rabbi 
was  beyond  reach  for  the  present. 

Baruch  fell  into  the  habit  of  haunting  the 
localities  frequented  by  Jesus,  in  Bethany  and 
Jerusalem ;  the  Mount  of  Olives  especially  had 
a  fascination  for  him.  He  spent  many  nights 
there,  as  solitary  as  the  lonely  devotee  whom  he 
sought.  As  the  autumn  came  on,  and  the 
nights  cooled,  his  mother  remonstrated  with  him 
for  the  exposure,  but  he  said :  — 

"  Stay  me  not,  O  my  mother,  till  mine  eyes 
have  beheld  him  who  hath  blessed  me  above  all 
living  men." 

But  Ariella  said  nothing  at  all.  She  was  ex 
periencing  in  her  turn  a  little  of  the  pang  felt 
by  Baruch  when  she  herself  was  healed.  She 
seemed  to  be  less  precious  to  Baruch  than  when 
he  was  blind.  Was  it  so?  Or  only  that  an 
other  was  grown  more  dear  ? 


COME  FORTH.  235 

At  all  events,  Baruch  trod  the  familiar  path 
to  Mount  Olivet  with  patient,  persistent  feet, 
and  there  he  kept  a  watch  of  many  weeks. 

One  night,  at  the  decline  of  the  moon,  it 
being  cool  and  the  dewfall  almost  frosty,  Ba 
ruch  on  the  brow  of  Olivet  looked  down,  and 
yonder,  treading  the  ascending  path,  he  beheld 
the  climbing  figure  of  a  solitary  man.  It  was 
late  and  deserted  on  the  mountain.  No  idle 
visitor  had  ever  interrupted  Baruch's  seclusion 
on  that  lonely  spot.  When  he  saw  the  figure  of 
the  man  who  approached  him,  his  heart  beat 
with  a  violent,  suffocating  motion.  The  figure 
was  tall  and  commanding,  but  it  bent  wearily, 
as  if  the  ascent  proved  hard.  Baruch  watched 
it  climb  with  a  passionate  desire  to  run  and  help 
the  man  and  be  tender  to  him,  as  one  human 
heart  doth  yearn  toward  another ;  but  this  he 
dared  not.  So  he  remained  as  he  was  until  the 
man  had  reached  the  mountain-top. 

The  moon,  at  that  moment,  fled  into  a  dark 
cloud,  and  as  the  two  met  —  one  standing,  the 
other  kneeling  —  the  face  bent  above  Baruch 
was  invisible. 

"  Master,"  whispered  Baruch,  "  this  many  a 
night  have  I  sought  thee  here  to  bless  thee,  and 
now  thou  hast  come." 

The  Nazarene  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
gently  touched  or  stroked  the  cheek  of  the 


236  COME  FORTH. 

kneeling  man.  The  action  was  as  tender  as  a 
woman's.  But  it  had  in  it  more  than  feminine 
tenderness,  —  a  pathetic,  manful  longing  for 
sympathy  too  seldom  received,  too  sorely  needed. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  man  were  quite  unaccus 
tomed  to  gratitude  or  recognition  so  delicate  as 
that  of  Baruch,  and  as  if  he,  in  his  turn,  had 
become  the  grateful  one. 

"  Lord,"  cried  Baruch,  "  unto  thy  mercy  I 
pray  thee  add  one  thing  more,  that  I  may  be 
utterly  blessed  among  men." 

"Name  thou  the  thing,"  replied  the  other, 
but  shrinking  a  little,  and  speaking  wearily,  as 
if  disappointed  at  the  utterance,  just  then,  of  a 
personal  request. 

"  Master,  that  I  may  behold  thy  countenance  ! 
Only  that !  "  entreated  Baruch  gently. 

At  this  moment  the  moon  shot  from  behind 
her  dark  veil,  and  blazed  in  the  Face  unto  which 
the  kneeling  man  lifted  his  awed  and  yearning 
eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WINTER  came  on  drearily  in  Judea  that  year. 
There  was  more  rain  than  usual,  and  early 
frosts.  The  poor  houses  of  the  people,  ill-pre 
pared,  as  is  so  apt  to  be  the  case  in  hot  coun 
tries,  for  cold  weather,  presented  sodden  and 
shivering  faces  to  the  gray  landscape,  wherein 
rock  and  ridge  and  mountain,  and  the  sombre 
regard  of  the  great  Desert,  seemed  to  watch  the 
lowering  sky. 

Martha,  the  widow  of  Simon  the  Leper,  was 
displeased.  Probably  the  weather  contributed 
to  her  discomfort ;  nobody  can  be  irrationally 
happy  with  a  sky  of  cold  lead  and  an  atmos 
phere  of  cold  pottages  ;  but  Martha  did  not  at 
tribute  her  discontent  to  meteorological  causes. 
A  man  was  cause  enough.  Why  muddle  the  case 
and  chatter  of  the  weather,  which  anybody  had 
to  deal  with?  Who  else  had  to  deal  with  a 
brother  like  hers  ?  To  be  sure,  there  was  Mary, 
who  went  about  like  a  mute  at  a  funeral,  and 
forgot  to  shake  the  rugs. 

u  Besides,"  observed  Martha  abruptly,  "  thou 
never  seest  any  fault  in  Lazarus.  No  wonder 


238  COME  FORTH. 

he  thinks  he  is  never  to  blame,  with  a  woman 
always  at  his  feet  at  home.  Fortunately  for  him 
he  has  not  two  to  spoil  him." 

"  I  am  but  one,  surely,"  replied  Mary,  with  a 
dove-like  suggestion  of  saintly  sarcasm  in  her 
voice,  "  but  I  am  quite  willing  that  our  brother 
should  be  sure  of  me,  that  I  gainsay  him  not  in 
his  comings-in  and  goings-out.  Lazarus  hath  his 
own  affairs,  and  if  they  are  not  such  as  he 
shareth  with  me,  I  do  but  trust  him.  It  is  not 
much  to  do." 

"  The  hours  that  man  keeps,"  continued  Martha 
complainingly,  "  since  he  came  back  from  Caper 
naum,  are  a  disgrace  to  the  house  of  Simon  my 
husband,  who  never  departed  from  me  after  the 
evening  meal.  For  sixteen  nights  hath  Lazarus 
not  come  home  until  such  time  as  I  could  not 
keep  awake  to  have  speech  with  him." 

"  Perhaps,"  interrupted  Mary  sweetly,  "  he 
did  prefer  that  thou  shouldst  not  take  that 
trouble  upon  thyself." 

"  He  is  none  so  considerate,"  replied  Martha 
comfortably,  without  apprehension  of  the  gentle 
sting  in  Mary's  demure  words.  "  But  last  night 
I  did  hear  him  when  he  got  here,  for  he  did 
stumble  over  a  jar  of  my  preserved  figs,  and  it 
clattered  all  over  the  court  like  thunder." 

That  Martha  intended  no  ungentlewomanly 
expletive,  but  a  simple  electrical  figure  of  speech, 


COME   FORTH.  239 

was  evident  by  the  serious,  matter-of-fact  expres 
sion  on  her  broad,  handsome  face,  with  which  she 
proceeded  to  say :  — 

"  And  verily  it  was  an  hour  after  the  peal  of 
midnight.  I  heard  the  watchman  on  the  Roman 

O 

citadel  call  aloud,  '  All 's  well !  '  at  least  as  long 
as  that  before  Lazarus  showed  his  face  in  this 
respectable  court.  I  would  have  hastened  to 
have  words  with  him,  but  he  hurried  into  his 
own  portion  of  the  house,  and  attended  to  me 
not.  To-night  he  is  gone  again." 

"  Whatever  be  his  trouble,"  sighed  Mary,  "  it 
weareth  upon  him,  for  he  groweth  pale  and  thin 
as  never  my  eyes  beheld  my  brother.  It  griev- 
eth  me  so'rely.  He  eateth  not,  and  I  fear  me 
he  sleepeth  not." 

"  Most  people  can't  sleep  unless  they  be  in 
their  beds  I  "  snapped  Martha.  "  Thou  mayest 
be  sorry,  if  thou  choosest,  Mary.  Thou  hast  the 
sorrowing  nature.  But  Lazarus  maketh  me 
downright  angry." 

Martha  spoke  in  excellent  Aramaic,  and  the 
word  with  which  she  closed  her  sentence  was  the 
nearest  synonym  to  our  own  useful  but  perhaps 
more  modern  monosyllable,  mad. 

"  Gone  again,"  as  Martha  had  said,  Lazarus 
surely  was.  Thus  stood  the  story  of  this  young 
man's  unprecedented  and  erratic  disappearances 
from  his  sister's  respectable  home. 


240  COME  FORTH. 

After  his  return  from  Capernaum,  he  had 
spent  a  few  weeks  in  a  mechanical  effort  to  live 
without  Zahara.  This  was  really  all  that  life 
amounted  to.  To  his  business  he  attended  dully : 
it  rolled  along  like  a  pebble  on  a  smooth  board, 
a  little  inclined  by  long  habit.  Absence  from 
Zahara  had  a  profound  effect  upon  Lazarus. 
Most  men  mope  a  little  under  such  circum 
stances.  This  sensitive  and  passionate  nature 
despaired.  Lazarus  was  even,  capable  of  dying 
for  love's  sake.  Such  things  exist,  and  have 
always  existed.  The  case  was  complicated  for 
Lazarus  by  Zahara's  final  demand  upon  him  in 
their  stolen  interview  upon  the  shore  of  the 
lake.  "  Abandon  the  Nazarene  ?"  A  thousand 
times  a  day  the  intimate  friend  of  Jesus  cried, 
"  Impossible !  "  A  thousand  times  the  lover  of 
Zahara  temporized,  "  But  how  tell  her  so  ? " 
From  dark  to  dawn  his  nature  argued  with 
itself :  "  He  ruleth  my  soul !  "  —  "  She  ruleth 
my  heart !  "  "  Unto  him  is  my  duty."  —  "  Unto 
her  is  my  troth."  "  Him  will  I  never  deny." 
—  "  From  her  can  I  never  part."  "  He  is  my 
lord."  —  "  She  is  my  queen."  "  To  him  I  am 
loyal."  —  "  To  her  I  am  true." 

The  strength  of  Lazarus,  of  which  he  had 
once  a  goodly,  manly  store,  began  to  decline 
rapidly.  It  is  just  to  this  tossed  and  tempted 
soul  to  say  that,  with  his  force  of  body,  his  force 


COME  FORTH.  241 

of  will  began  to  weaken.  This  is  a  common 
calamity :  it  is  the  sorest  and  saddest  feature  of 
physical  unfitness,  and  one  that  commands,  in 
all  ages  and  in  any  state  of  society,  the  least 
sympathy. 

One  day,  without  a  sign  of  warning,  he  met 
her  suddenly  in  a  bazaar  in  Jerusalem. 

Her  maidens  were  with  her.  She  and  Rebecca 
were  purchasing  silk  and  gold  fringes.  Her 
litter  waited  without.  Lazarus,  who  was  traf 
ficking  with  the  owner  of  the  shop  over  some 
minor  matter  of  decoration  needed  in  the  palace 
of  the  Maccabees,  turned  violently  pale.  His 
love  rushed  upon  him,  at  the  sight  of  her,  like  a 
torrent  that  no  man  withstandeth.  His  hands 
were  full  of  tapestries,  and,  bending  over  his 
purchases,  he  managed  to  approach  her  and  to 
say  in  a  thrilling  whisper :  — 

"Zaharaf" 

"  We  are  returned  to  the  palace,"  murmured 
the  lady  Zahara,  toying  leisurely  with  the  pur 
ple  silk.  "  Forgettest  thou  me,  Lazarus  ?  " 

"  If  I  see  thee  not,  I  die !  "  breathed  Lazarus. 

Zahara  arched  the  pretty  eyebrows  which 
were  distractingly  distinct  above  her  silver  veil. 

"  Bid  thy  Rebecca  be  on  watch  for  my  Abra 
ham,"  Lazarus  continued  to  say.  "  I  have  pur 
poses,  and  them  shall  I  enforce." 

Zahara  drew  herself  up  haughtily ;  then  flut- 


242  COME  FORTH. 

tered  a  little  with  a  throb  of  feminine  respect 
for  this  masterful  speech.  She  said  nothing ; 
the  merchant  spoke :  — 

"  Will  the  most  worshipful  princess  deign  to 
consider  the  dyes  used  in  this  silk  of  purple  ?  " 

Lazarus  examined  his  tapestries  in  palpitating 
silence.  When  he  raised  his  head  Zahara  was 
drifting  to  her  litter.-  She  did  not  turn  her 
head.  Too  swiftly  she  was  gone. 

At  that  moment  was  born  the  daring  venture 
which  Lazarus  and  Zahara  afterward  put  into 
execution  with  a  determination  and  a  reckless 
ness  that  had  effects  inconceivable  by  them  upon 
certain  of  the  chief  actors  in  this  tale. 

When  Lazarus  had  been  employed  upon  the 
Temple  about  a  year  before,  he  had  been  called 
apart  from  the  workmen  to  inspect  a  matter  re 
quiring  the  master's  eye.  Lazarus  was  more 
than  a  carpenter  or  a  master-builder.  He  was 
an  intelligent  man,  with  an  eye  trained  to  pro 
portions  :  his  was  equal  to  any  artisan  skill  im 
ported  by  Herod  from  Greece  or  Rome,  From 
foundation-stone  to  marble  turret,  he  was  a  re 
lentless  inspector  of  work.  A  column  in  the 
inner  Temple  had  departed  from  the  true  per 
pendicular.  Its  carven  base  had  sensibly  shifted, 
and  Lazarus  was  sent  for  to  inquire  the  cause 
and  prescribe  the  remedy.  He  had  been  led  to 
a  heavy  piece  of  tapestry  that  ornamented  an 


COME  FORTH.  243 

alcove  in  the  High  priest's  vestment-chamber.  A 
door  was  revealed  behind  the  embroidery,  as  Laz 
arus  was  guided  through  a  passage  by  a  priest  of 
high  rank,  into  the  damp  darkness  of  the  subter 
ranean  chambers  below  the  Temple.  Here  were 
the  foundation-stones  placed  by  Solomon.  Near 
by  was  the  treasure-chamber,  known  to  but  a 
sacerdotal  few,  and  there  was  the  crumbling 
masonry  for  which  the  skillful  eye  was  search 
ing.  Lazarus  spent  the  morning  in  surveys  and 
calculations  ;  the  priest  departed,  and  bade  him 
follow  when  his  work  was  done.  Lazarus  had 
privileges  beyond  the  mechanics.  Was  he  not 
a  Jew  among  Jews,  and  a  famous  Pharisee  ? 

When  he  started  back  through  the  same 
vaulted  passage,  his  trained  eye  could  not  help 
wandering,  by  the  light  of  the  cedar  torch,  along 
the  neatly  laid  blocks  of  limestone.  Just  as  he 
was  about  to  emerge,  behind  the  tapestry,  he  no 
ticed  a  bar  of  bronze  that  projected  from  a  block 
larger  than  the  rest.  He  stopped,  and  musingly 
pushed  and  then  pulled  it.  Silently  the  stone 
moved  out  upon  a  brazen  hinge,  and  the  new 
draught  almost  extinguished  his  light.  No  one 
was  there.  He  glanced  within.  Curiosity  and 
youth  take  no  long  time  to  decide.  Lazarus 
bent  and  entered,  and  softly  closed  the  secret 
door  behind  him.  Soon  the  passage  became 
high  enough  for  him  to  stand  and  walk.  It  was 


244  COME  FORTH. 

in  excellent  condition,  and  showed  signs  of  fre 
quent  use.  Down,  down  it  went.  The  adven 
turer  reflected.  Did  it  lead  to  Sheol  ?  He 
heard  frequent  sounds  of  rushing  water,  but  the 
passage  was  dry.  After  descending  and  wind 
ing  for  a  time,  the  avenue  began  to  lead  up. 
The  air  was  fresh  and  cool.  Could  it  be  that  it 
led  to  the  tomb  of  David?  A  thousand  conjec 
tures  arose  in  the  imagination  of  Lazarus,  as  he 
toiled  stubbornly  up  the  steep  ascent.  Soon 
steps  helped  him.  Then  another  block  of  stone 
barred  his  way.  He  had  reached  the  mysteri 
ous  end.  He  drew  a  breath  and  pushed.  The 
light  of  the  hot  sun  greeted  him.  He  was  in 
the  midst  of  deep  shadows.  He  looked,  and 
half-grown  clusters  of  grapes  smiled  at  him. 
With  cautious  step  he  parted  the  twining  vines. 
He  looked  upon  a  well-kept  terrace.  Opposite 
was  the  glorious  Temple.  This  was  the  terrace 
of  Annas  the  High  priest.  Above,  frowned  the 
palace. 

Lazarus  examined  this  strangely  protected  en 
trance  curiously.  He  took  quick  and  careful 
note  of  its  location.  He  quietly  returned,  re 
placed  the  stone  in  position,  and  walked  back  as 
swiftly  as  the  unequal  way  would  allow.  Once 
only  he  stopped :  that  was  when  he  heard  the 
rushing  as  of  a  torrent  above  him.  He  did  not 
look  up,  but  only  wondered  where  the  water 


COME  FORTH.  245 

came  from  and  whither  it  went.  Had  Lazarus 
but  raised  his  hand  he  could  have  felt  a  brazen 
disc  that  divides  the  waters  from  the  passage  by 
no  more  than  the  width  of  a  thumb.  A  hun 
dred  cubits'  farther  ascent,  and  he  cautiously 
emerged  from  this  impressive  corridor.  His 
discovery  was  undiscovered.  He  kept  his  coun 
sel,  as  the  subterranean  passage  did  her  own. 
The  secret  did  not  pass  his  lips,  nor  did  the 
mystery  deeply  concern  his  curiosity.  The  agi 
tated  nature  of  the  times  and  the  autocratic 
authority  of  the  Sanhedrim  left  little  occasion 
for  wonder  at  any  expedient  or  subterfuge, 
light  or  dark,  upon  the  part  of  the  ecclesiastical 
princes.  Whether  this  passage  had  been  built 
for  prayer  or  villainy,  for  the  disposal  of  burnt- 
offerings  or  idolaters,  for  vigils,  fastings,  or 
amours,  who  could  say  ?  Lazarus  never  knew, 
and  never  greatly  cared.  His  discovery  oc 
curred  to  him  now  with  a  mental  flash  and 
a  crash  like  lightning  and  thunder.  It  shot 
through  him  there  in  the  bazaar  while  Zahara 
was  blushing  over  the  purple  silk.  When  his 
soul  started  and  said,  "  If  I  see  thee  not,  I  die !  " 
the  whole  scheme  seemed  to  spring  to  meet  him. 
To  make  the  story  short,  he  confided  in  his 
fellow  Abraham.  Zahara  trusted  Rebecca.  The 
man  and  the  maid  met.  Abraham  revealed  the 
situation.  Rebecca  bore  the  tale  to  her  mistress. 


246  COME  FORTH. 

Upon  the  seventh  night  following  the  interview 
in  the  bazaar,  the  daring  lovers  met  below 
ground  between  the  palace  and  the  Temple. 

To  accomplish  this  end,  it  had  been  necessary 
for  Lazarus  to  renew  work  upon  the  Temple. 
This  he  had  found  little  difficulty  in  doing,  for 
his  services  were  always  in  demand.  It  had 
been  less  easy  to  make  a  job  behind  the  priests' 
quarters,  but  this  obstacle,  too,  the  young  builder 
had  finally  conquered.  Upon  the  plea  of  late  and 
solitary  labor  performed  more  skillfully  by  the 
master  without  the  men,  Lazarus  had  managed 
to  obtain  access  at  an  early  hour  in  the  evening, 
to  the  subterranean  passage,  from  the  Temple 
entrance.  He  replaced  the  stone  behind  him. 
The  drowsy  priests  did  not  notice  whether  or 
when  the  builder  left  the  Temple.  Lazarus 
pushed  through  with  hot  haste,  and  with  bound 
ing  heart  reached  the  extreme  end  of  the  pas 
sage  and  stirred  the  grass-grown  slide,  moved 
it  quickly  and  quietly  aside,  and  stretched  out 
his  hand  into  the  grape-vine.  This  was  the 
signal  of  meeting.  Midway  of  the  vine  he 
grasped  the  soft  fingers  of  Zahara.  Zahara  had 
a  spice  of  the  adventuress  in  her:  she  liked  this 
daring  business  ;  it  stirred  her  soul  and  body. 
She  darted  behind  the  grape-vine,  and  allowed 
her  lover  to  draw  her  into  his  forbidding  tryst- 
ing-place  without  a  quaver.  Abraham  stood 


COME  FORTH.  247 

sentry  in  the  dark  at  the  mouth  of  the  passage : 
Kebecca  watched  the  palace.  Lazarus  and  Za- 
hara  were  alone.  He  clasped  her  in  the  gloom 
without  a  word,  and  when  he  had  suffocated  her 
with  kisses,  in  silence  and  darkness,  he  raised  a 
temple  lamp,  and  stared  upon  her  beauty,  like 
one  gone  mad  with  love  and  joy.  Zahara  was  a 
little  pale,  but  she  shone  resplendent  in  that 
dreary  place. 

"  Zahara !  Brightness !  Bright  one !  "  cried 
Lazarus.  "  I  risk  my  life  for  thy  lips !  " 

"  And  I  my  liberty  for  thine,"  replied  Zahara, 
with  a  sweet  pride.  Then  they  clasped,  and 
spoke  no  more  for  the  closeness  of  their  em 
brace;  and  that  first  meeting  gave  space  for 
little  speech  or  language  between  them  but  the 
language  of  the  lips  and  arms.  They  met  rap 
turously  and  parted  soon  and  safely :  Zahara  and 
Rebecca  returned  together  to  the  palace,  while 
Abraham  and  Lazarus  departed  by  different 
ways  to  their  own  place.  All  went  as  smoothly 
as  a  canoe  over  a  torrent.  Nothing  happened 
to  hinder  or  alarm  the  lovers.  The  escapade 
was  undiscovered  and  repeated.  In  fact,  it  was 
repeated  for  many  an  evening. 

These  meetings  were  always  necessarily  short, 
but  they  lengthened  insensibly  and  dangerously. 
Zahara  enjoyed  herself  supremely,  without  di 
verting  fears.  The  girl  was  born  for  a  wider 


248  COME  FORTH. 

life  than  the  poor  prison  of  experience  accorded 
to  Oriental  maidens.  She  had  possibilities  in 
her  which  the  palace  of  the  High  priest  recog 
nized  no  more  than  the  theologians  recognized 
her  ecclesiastical  capacity  to  be  voted  into  the 
Sanhedrim.  This  adventure  delighted  her.  She 
waived  its  dangers  away  like  a  queen,  and  kissed 
the  tenderer  for  them. 

As  the  two  became  more  accustomed  to  each 
other's  precious  presence,  they  managed  to  intro 
duce  some  articulate  communication  into  the 
wild  scene.  In  their  damp  and  ghastly  rendez 
vous,  with  the  light  of  the  lover's  lamp  flaring 
upon  their  faces,  and  their  strained  ears,  grown 
refined  by  their  new  exercise,  listening  to  every 
sound  beyond  their  own  heart-beats,  Lazarus 
and  Zahara  did  the  first  conversing  of  their 
lives. 

Zahara  returned  quickly  enough  to  the  subject 
which  had  now  mounted  far  beyond  their  per 
sonal  case,  and  had  become  the  main  source  of 
excitement,  amity,  or  enmity  in  Judea,  —  the 
career  of  the  Nazarene.  Zahara  remained  firm 
in  her  repulsion  toward  this  man,  and  toward  all 
which  he  represented  in  the  movements  of  her 
times.  She  had  the  instinct  of  the  high-born 
against  the  low,  of  culture  against  rudeness,  of 
the  conservative  against  the  progressive,  of  the 
Sanhedrim  against  the  dissenter,  of  ecclesiasti- 


COME  FORTH.  249 

cism  against  religious  liberty,  of  a  young  and 
haughty  woman  against  that  which  she  had  not 
been  educated  to  respect.  She  demanded  of 
Lazarus  nothing  less  than  his  entire  desertion 
of  the  dangerous  itinerant  agitator. 

"  Have  I  not  done  enough  that  is  disloyal  for 
thy  sake  ?  "  inquired  Lazarus  mournfully.  "  For 
thee,  I  have  not  had  converse  with  the  man  for 
now  longer  than  I  dare  reflect  upon.  Each  day 
I  vow  unto  myself  that  I  will  see  the  face  of 
this  Jesus,  and  pray  his  forgiveness  for  ingrati 
tude  that  the  man  thou  lovest  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of,  O  my  Zahara !  Each  night  I  kiss 
thee,  and  I  behold  him  not." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  as  far  as  it  goes," 
replied  Zahara,  with  a  little  feminine  self-satis 
faction  at  her  conquest  of  her  lover,  "  but  that 
is  not  enough.  I  like  not  to  see  thee  the  dupe 
of  such  pretenders.  Thou  art  not  like  low-born 
men,  deceived  by  sorcerer's  antics,  as  children 
and  old  women." 

In  vain  did  Lazarus  reason  with  Zahara 
touching  the  true  nature  and  achievements  of 
his  friend.  When  he  spoke  of  the  modesty, 
the  sincerity,  the  tenderness,  the  exquisite  sym 
pathy,  the  godlike  unselfishness,  of  the  man, 
Zahara  stopped  his  lips  with  a  kiss ;  and  when 
he  related  the  marvels  wrought  by  the  Rabbi, 
Zahara  arched  her  pretty  brows.  When  he 


250  COME  FORTH. 

urged  his  thrilling  neighborhood  histories  of  the 
sick  girl  and  the  blind  man,  Zahara  said  cures 
were  common  things.  When  he  insisted  upon 
her  own  personal  indebtedness  to  the  saviour  of 
her  life  at  Lake  Gennesaret,  Zahara  smiled  in  a 
chilly,  well-bred  way,  strongly  suggestive  of  her 
father,  except  that  her  expression  was  so  thor 
oughly  ladylike. 

"  What  wilt  thou  ?  "  cried  Lazarus  in  despair, 
one  night.  "  What  wilt  thou,  then  ?  Is  there 
any  test  which  thou  wilt  take  of  the  honor  of 
my  words,  or  of  the  sanity  of  my  judgment,  or 
of  the  wondrous  power  and  character  of  him 
whom  thou  despisest  and  I  revere,  whom  thou 
scornest  and  I  obey  ?  Our  hearts  are  one, 
Zahara.  Our  minds  should  not  be  twain.  Thy 
pertinacity  grieve th  me  for  love's  sake.  Tell 
me,  then,  what  proof  wilt  thou  take,  of  him  or 
of  me,  that  thou  shalt  consider  the  claims  of  this 
holy  and  self -forgetful  man  ?  " 

"When  with  mine  own  eyes  I  behold  him 
give  life  unto  the  dead,  O  my  lover,  I  will  con 
sider,"  laughed  Zahara  lightly. 

"  Thou  imperious  Zahara !  "  groaned  Lazarus. 
"  Thou  demandest  the  impossible  of  nature  and 
the  Nazarene." 

Their  lamp  went  out  this  moment,  and  Zahara 
clung  to  him  in  a  pretty  fright.  In  the  dark 
his  lips  felt  for  hers,  and  he  said  no  more  about 
the  Rabbi. 


COME  FORTH.  251 

Before  he  lifted  his  face,  a  low  voice  without 
upon  the  terrace  called  him  urgently.  It  was 
Abraham  the  slave. 

"  Rebecca  warneth  me,"  whispered  Abraham. 
"  The  High  priest  in  the  palace  calleth  for  the 
lady  Zahara." 

The  trembling  lovers  pushed  aside  the  grass- 
grown  slide,  and  boldly  ventured  out.  Lazarus 
drew  Zahara  into  the  open  air,  —  it  was  raining 
violently,  —  and  they  stood  for  an  instant  with 
held  breath,  palpitating  behind  the  shield  of 
vines.  Quivering,  they  listened  and  stared  for 
sound  or  signal  which  should  decide  the  nature 
and  extent  of  their  danger. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THERE  was  merriment  in  the  house  of  Mal- 
achi.  The  people  of  Bethany  were  once  again 
wending  their  ways  to  his  now  notorious  door, 
ready  to  forget  a  scandal  for  a  feast,  and  to  for 
give  an  unpleasant  reputation  for  a  frolic.  The 
neighbors  collected  one  bright  winter  day,  and 
salaamed  across  the  Pharisee's  threshold  politely 
in  gala  clothes.  The  occasion  was  no  less  than 
the  marriage  of  his  daughter. 

It  was  a  question  of  much  local  interest  when 
or  how  Ariella  and  Baruch  had  effected  the  pre 
liminaries  to  this  event.  Their  betrothal,  which 
was  a  solemn  affair,  according  to  the  customs  of 
their  people,  had  taken  place  scarcely  six  weeks 
before  the  marriage  day.  Malachi  had  surren 
dered  to  the  situation  after  the  hardest  struggle  ; 
but  he  had  surrendered  thoroughly.  Malachi 
was  a  shrewd  fellow,  who  took  no  long  time  to 
perceive  the  pit  of  unpopularity  into  which  he 
had  dropped.  Something  must  be  done  to  re 
trieve  himself  among  his  neighbors  and  acquaint 
ances.  Why,  his  very  rentals  had  begun  to 
decline  !  Gossip  gave  him  the  name  of  a  hard 


COME   FORTH.  253 

man,  and  tenants  were  afraid  of  him.  This 
would  clearly  never  do.  Malachi  consulted  what 
he  called  his  own  soul,  kept  his  counsel,  confided 
in  nobody,  admitted  nothing,  but  against  the 
growing  intimacy  of  his  daughter  and  Baruch, 
to  the  amazement  of  Hagaar,  he  offered  no  pro 
test.  In  fact,  he  seemed  to  see  or  know  as  little 
as  possible  of  the  love  affair,  treating  it  with  a 
cold  indifference  which  would  have  wounded  to 
the  quick  a  daughter  whose  affection  he  had  ever 
chosen  to  cultivate.  When  Hagaar  timidly 
announced,  one  night,  that  Baruch  had  formally 
made  request  for  the  hand  of  Ariella,  her  father 
scornfully  replied :  — 

"  The  girl  is  naught  but  a  nuisance  about  the 
house  since  all  this  sorcerer's  business  hath  set 
her  against  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  Let  her 
marry  the  beggar,  if  she  will.  I  shall  be  only 
too  glad  to  be  rid  of  her." 

It  was  more  difficult  to  say  when  the  lovers 
themselves  had  reached  the  definite  mile-stone 
of  marriage  in  their  vague  and  somewhat  aerial 
courtship.  Tormenting  and  blessing  each  other 
by  turns  of  devotion  and  withdrawal,  they  had 
at  last  come  to  the  limit  of  a  kind  of  spiritual 
caprice,  —  who  could  tell  how?  They  them 
selves,  perhaps,  least  of  all.  Fate  had  led  them 
by  strange  ways  into  the  common  human  cir 
cumstance  of  fortunate  love.  Marriage,  for  so 


254  COME  FORTH. 

long  the  impossible,  nay,  the  inconceivable,  in 
their  afflicted  lives,  was  the  last  thing  to  make 
itself  practicable ;  the  last,  perhaps,  to  make 
itself  necessary  to  their  new  and  happy  lot. 
The  possession  of  the  simplest  human  faculties, 
the  unregarded  preciousness  of  sight,  the  unesti- 
mated  mercy  of  the  power  of  locomotion,  trea 
sure  so  usual  that  other  loving  men  and  women 
noted  it  not,  —  this  was  paradise  enough  at  first 
for  Baruch  and  for  Ariella. 

The  thrill  of  health,  the  delirium  of  vision, 
the  late  sweet  consciousness  of  having  become 
like  others  of  God's  creatures,  here  was  the  fruit 
upon  the  tree  of  life.  Slowly  they  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  good  and  the  evil  in  unshared 
experience.  They  arrived  at  the  necessity  of 
uniting  their  blessedness  by  those  almost  unap- 
parent  stages  which  sometimes  make  the  period 
of  courtship  as  delicate  and  as  fair  as  the  prism 
in  an  opal,  and  sometimes  set  it  with  sharp 
pangs  and  perils  that  go  too  far  to  destroy  its 
delight. 

At  any  rate,  however  they  did  it,  they  came 
to  the  old  familiar  turn  in  the  winding  road  of 
love ;  and,  insensibly  as  one  foot  follows  another 
in  a  long  march,  they  passed  with  extraordinary 
sensitiveness  into  ordinary  happiness. 

The  wedding  of  Ariella  was  a  great  event  in 
the  hamlet  of  Bethany.  Her  father  unexpect- 


COME  FORTH.  255 

edly  developed  a  stubborn  vanity  in  the  matter, 
and  insisted  on  as  much  show  as  possible  ;  part 
ly,  Hagaar  suspected,  as  a  taunt  to  the  poverty 
of  the  bridegroom,  who  naturally,  poor  fellow, 
had  not  yet  so  much  as  a  trade  to  show  for  him 
self,  though  he  had  prospective  opportunities 
to  acquire  the  delicate  handicraft  of  constructing 
musical  instruments,  for  which  both  his  taste 
and  his  refined  fingers  were  well  adapted.  But 
at  all  events  Ariella  was  ceremoniously  mar 
ried. 

The  girl  bore  herself  through  the  gayeties  of 
the  evening  like  a  white  flower,  still  and  sweet. 
There  was  something  singular  about  her  beauty, 
which  seemed  less  bridal  than  celestial  to  look 
upon.  The  rudest  eye  regarded  the  pale,  slight, 
serious  bride  with  reverence ;  and  the  rudest 
tongue,  which,  alas  !  sometimes  gave  itself  free 
dom  at  the  weddings  of  these  times,  was  bridled 
before  her. 

"Verily,"  said  Martha,  the  widow  of  Simon 
the  Leper,  "  the  marriage  of  those  twain  is  like 
unto  the  marriage  of  two  ghosts.  This  wedding 
seemeth  to  me  like  the  rising  from  the  dead." 

"  It  seemeth  to  me  as  happy  as  a  resurrec 
tion,"  said  Mary,  smiling,  "  if  that  be  the  mean 
ing  of  thy  thought." 

The  pleasant  tumult,  the  laughter  and  jesting, 
song,  music,  dance,  and  feasting,  circled  about 


256  COME  FORTH. 

Baruoh  like  the  movement  of  fays,  or  beautiful 
witches,  or  beings  of  another  race.  He  found  it 
confusing  to  become  akin  to  his  kind  by  all  this 
commonplace  festivity.  It  made  him  silent, 
like  a  spectator.  Yet  perhaps  Baruch  liked  it 
all  well  enough,  in  his  own  way.  The  goodliest 
saint  has  a  throb  of  pleasure  in  finding  himself 
forced  to  share  in  human  merriment  like  other 
people.  Baruch  looked  on  with  a  remote  smile. 
He  heard  the  quick,  soft  breath  of  Ariella.  He 
took  her  by  the  hand,  before  all  the  world  ;  he 
gazed  upon  her  spiritual  beauty,  intoxicated. 
What  eye  that  was  used  to  seeing  could  look 
upon  a  bride  like  that  ? 

As  one  stirreth  in  a  vision,  Baruch  led  her 
from  her  father's  house.  The  procession  formed 
in  swift,  bright  links  to  bear  her  away.  The 
home  of  his  mother  would  receive  the  bride 
groom  and  bride.  Chaplets  of  myrtle  crowned 
the  heads  of  the  bridal  party.  All  the  flowers 
that  the  season  yielded  were  showered  before 
their  happy  feet.  Perfumes  filled  the  air.  Tim 
brels  sounded  shrilly.  Sweet  singers  chanted 
love-songs.  The  light-bearers  bore  brazen  and 
carven  lamps,  filled  with  scented  oil  and  fastened 
to  the  tops  of  poles.  These  flickered  gently 
upon  laughing  faces,  and  rich  robes,  and  the 
wavering  outline  of  dancing  figures. 

"Impossible,"    thought    Ariella,    "that    this 


COME  FORTH.  257 

bride  is  I."  It  seemed  to  her  every  moment  as 
if  she  should  make  a  misstep,  stumble,  and  fall 
back  upon  that  bed  of  misery,  that  nine  years' 
old  grave,  and  lie  there  helpless,  hopeless,  ach 
ing,  and  start  and  sob  because  she  had  waked 
out  of  such  a  pretty  dream. 

"  Incredible,"  said  Baruch,  "  that  this  en 
raptured  man  is  I."  He  looked  at  Ariella.  Her 
long  fair  hair  flowed  like  sunlight  down  her 
shoulders ;  it  rippled  in  the  light  breeze  like  a 
brook.  Her  veil  was  of  silver-white  tissue,  half- 
transparent  and  shining.  Her  delicate  throat 
was  visible.  A  chain  of  gold  encircled  it.  The 
chain  stirred  with  the  heaving  of  her  breast. 
Her  hands  and  white  arms  trembled.  Baruch 
said  to  himself  :  — 

"  I  shall  turn  my  head,  and  darkness  will  blot 
it  all  out.  The  vision  will  shatter  before  me. 
I  shall  strain  my  sightless  eyeballs  till  they  burn 
into  my  brain.  I  shall  move  in  blackness.  I 
shall  be  guided  of  a  lad  upon  a  solitary  way." 

But  when  he  saw  the  lad  Enoch  verily  stand 
ing  upon  his  valuable  head,  in  a  prominent  place 
at  the  front  of  the  procession,  and  wearing  his 
chaplet  of  myrtle  upon  one  wagging  foot,  Baruch 
concluded  that  his  situation  possessed  the  ele 
ments  of  reality.  He  recovered  himself,  and 
crushed  the  hand  of  Ariella,  like  any  common 
bridegroom,  and  was  only  uncommon  in  this, 


258  COME  FORTH. 

that  he  blessed  God  because  of  his  earthly  joy, 
and  remembered  that  it  wa's  of  heaven. 

In  the  bliss  'of  Ariella  and  Barnch  there 
was  one  sturdy  disappointment.  First  in  their 
thought  had  been  the  great  Benefactor  of  their 
afflicted  and  blessed  lives.  To  welcome  him 
among  the  marriage  guests  would  have  added 
the  last  throb  to  delight,  and  the  last  solemnity 
to  the  sacredness  of  the  hour.  His  benediction 
would  have  brought  their  joy  to  its  highest  and 
most  solemn  level.  The  Rabbi  might  even  have 
married  them,  Ariella  thought ;  but  the  Rabbi 
was  not  to  be  found.  He  was  traveling  in  dis 
tant  villages,  followed  by  blessing  and  maledic 
tion,  by  trust  and  suspicion,  by  adoration  and 
enmity,  by  a  few  faithful  friends  and  by  a  fickle 
crowd  ;  by  the  scorn  of  the  socially  influential, 
the  espionage  and  hatred  of  ecclesiastics  ;  by  the 
loving  tears  and  smiles  of  the  poor,  the  sick,  the 
crippled,  unlucky,  unhappy ;  by  the  outcast,  err 
ing,  and  despised  of  men. 

The  Rabbi  was  about  what  he  called  his  Fa 
ther's  business.  These  were  strange  words  to 
the  followers  who  so  blindly  loved,  but  so  darkly 
comprehended,  that  mystical  life.  Perhaps  few 
were  constituted  so  as  to  have  understood  them 
better  than  these  two  young  people,  whose  ex 
perience  of  suffering  had  refined  both  the  imagi 
nation  and  the  spiritual  vision  necessary  to  the 


COME  FORTH.  259 

case.  Yet  their  conception  of  it  was  vague  and 
poor  enough.  As  one  looks  back  upon  that  sub 
lime  history,  the  most  touching  thing  about  it 
seems  to  be  the  heart-breaking  solitariness  of 
the  man,  whose  nearest  friend  could  not  appre 
hend  his  simplest  motive. 

His  motive  for  not  appearing  at  the  marriage 
festivity  of  Ariella  and  Baruch  was  probably  a 
complex  one.  For  one  thing,  the  excitement 
caused  by  these  two  memorable  cures  was  enor 
mous.  Jerusalem  felt  it,  and  Bethany  thrilled 
with  it.  A  hint  of  the  probable  presence  of  the 
Healer  would  have  turned  the  village  into  a 
camp,  and  the  bridal  party  into  the  centre  of  a 
mob.  True,  it  might  have  been  a  mob  of  re 
spectable  intentions  enough,  but  every  poor 
wretch  within  call  would  have  swelled  it ;  crip 
ples  and  lepers  crawled  in  the  bridal  train  of 
Ariella ;  and  as  to  Jesus  himself,  who  could  say 
what  would  have  been  done  unto  him  by  the 
clamorous  people  ?  They  were  capable  of  snatch 
ing  him  to  death  or  to  a  throne. 

As  the  marriage  train  approached  the  house 
of  the  bridegroom,  a  traveler,  coming  from  the 
direction  of  Jerusalem,  observed  it  at  a  distance, 
and  stopped  suddenly.  It  was  the  beautiful 
custom  of  the  Jews  that  whoever  met  the  bridal 
or  the  burial  party  should  turn  his  steps  and 
follow  it.  Etiquette  required  this  courteous  act 


260  COME  FORTH. 

of  every  stranger  no  less  than  any  friend.  He 
who  stood  watching  the  bridal  procession  of 
Ariella  and  Baruch  was  a  grave  and  weary  man, 
with  the  aspect  of  one  who  had  traveled  far 
and  needed  rest.  He  had  a  certain  homeless 
look,  pathetic  to  see,  which  showed  itself  in  his 
very  attitude,  and  the  slow,  sad  motion  of  the 
head  with  which  he  turned  to  view  the  happy 
scene.  His  first  purpose  seemed  to  be  to  shrink 
from  it,  step  into  the  shadow  of  trees  by  the 
roadside,  and  there  remain  concealed.  This  he 
did  for  such  space  of  time  as  the  procession  re 
quired  to  pass  him.  No  person  observed  him. 
When  the  bridal  train  had  swept  by  the  man 
stepped  forth  and  followed  it.  He  walked  at  a 
little  distance,  slowly,  almost  shyly,  making  no 
sign  of  his  presence.  This  man  was  the  Naza- 
rene.  When  Ariella  put  her  foot  across  the 
threshold  of  her  husband's  house,  he  stood  still, 
and  extended  his  hands  in  silent  benediction. 
Having  given  this  mute  and  beautiful  expression 
of  his  sympathy  with  the  happiest  marriage  that 
Judea  had  known  for  many  a  year,  he  returned 
as  he  had  come,  and  no  man  had  knowledge  of 
his  presence. 

When  Lazarus  and  Zahara  came  forth  from 
the  subterranean  passage  at  the  alarm  of  the 
slave,  no  person  but  Abraham  was  found  to  be 


COME   FORTH.  261 

in  sight.  Lazarus  deftly  and  swiftly  replaced 
the  slide,  and  drew  the  thick  grape-vine  closer  to 
it.  The  night  was  very  dark.  The  rain  beat 
against  the  vine,  and  dropped  heavily  from  leaf 
to  leaf  upon-  the  trembling  form  of  Zahara,  who 
shrank  within  the  frail  shelter,  not  daring  to 
venture  she  knew  not  what.  Lazarus,  having 
exchanged  a  few  whispered  words  with  Abra 
ham,  said  abruptly :  — 

"  Zahara,  my  own,  there  is  no  gainsaying  the 
matter,  —  we  must  part,  and  that  at  once.  One 
kiss,  my  love,  one  more  —  one  more  —  one  more. 
Now  return  thou  to  the  palace  of  thy  father 
with  all  speed.  Rebecca  awaits  thee  at  the 
upper  terrace.  I  go,  but  I  go  not  too  far  to 
watch  for  thy  safety,  and  see  that  thou  inakest 
thy  way  to  thy  handmaiden  unmolested." 

They  clung,  and  parted.  Each  felt  what 
neither  dared  to  say,  that  this  might  be  their 
last  meeting.  They  clasped  and  sobbed,  and 
turned  their  faces  from  each  other,  and  went 
their  ways.  Lazarus  and  Abraham  ran  along 
the  terrace,  keeping  close  in  the  shadow  till  they 
were  beyond  immediate  danger  of  detection. 
Then  dismissing  the  slave  to  the  highway,  Laz 
arus  concealed  himself  in  some  shrubbery,  and 
watched  the  palace  and  its  spacious  grounds. 

At  first  he  could  see  nothing,  it  was  so  dark 
and  the  storm  beat  so  in  his  face.  Suddenly,  a 


262  COME  FORTH. 

light  flashed,  and  went  out.  It  was  a  single 
torch,  extinguished  by  a  quick  order  ;  but  the 
momentary  gleam  had  revealed  the  figure  of  the 
High  priest,  followed  by  a  guard.  Annas  was 
searching  the  grounds. 

From  his  hiding-place  Lazarus  could  hear 
occasional  voices,  but  no  words.  Nothing  was 
to  be  seen  or  heard  of  Zahara.  Lazarus  suf 
fered  torments  of  anxiety. 

Presently,  the  sound  of  quick,  light  feet  ran 
across  the  wet  terrace.  A  woman's  garments 
fluttered  in  the  storm.  The  shrill  voice  of  Re 
becca  called  to  the  High  priest :  — 

"  My  lord,  I  bear  thee  good  tidings.  I  have 
found  my  mistress  the  lady  Zahara.  She  sleep- 
eth  soundly  on  a  cushion  in  the  inner  chamber 
of  the  women's  apartments.  She  hath  so  hidden 
herself  behind  a  curtain  that  I  did  overlook  her. 
I  pray  thee  pardon  me,  my  lord,  and  hasten 
to  her,  for  she  waketh,  and  awaiteth  thy  com 
mands." 

The  torch  flared  out  again.  The  High  priest 
and  his  guard,  none  too  amiably,  patrolled  the 
grounds  and  returned  to  the  palace.  Lazarus 
fancied  that  they  lingered  at  the  mouth  of  the 
underground  passage  too  long ;  but  he  dared 
not  stay  to  decide  this  point.  He  made  his  own 
escape  (in  the  darkness  this  was  not  a  matter  of 
difficulty),  and  gained  the  public  road  unob- 


COME  FORTH.  263 

served  ;  and  so,  across  the  valley  and  the  moun 
tain,  drenched  and  dreary,  he  reached  home  and 
drew  breath. 

Danger  for  the  present  was  over.  Bat  the 
result  of  this  alarm  was  serious  enough.  Laza 
rus  dared  not,  for  Zahara's  sake,  repeat  their 
audacious  meetings,  until  all  suspicion,  if  any 
existed,  were  worn  from  the  mind  of  the  High 
priest  by  time.  The  lovers  were  now  entirely 
separated.  Beyond  an  occasional  message  ven 
tured  through  their  confidential  slaves,  they  had 
no  communication.  Winter  set  in.  Zahara  re 
mained,  or  was  retained,  closely  in  the  palace  of 
her  father.  It  seemed  to  Lazarus  that  death 
could  not  be  worse  than  this.  He  grew  ghastly. 

One  day  he  sent  her  a  scroll,  on  which  was 
inscribed ;  — 

"  If  I  have  thee  not,  I  die," 

Zahara  responded  by  a  piece  of  papyrus,  on 
which  was  written,  "  Live  thou  for  Zahara." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  winter  was  nearly  over.  About  that 
time  in  the  year  which  corresponds  to  the  first 
week  of  the  month  of  February,  as  known  to 
our  calendar,  the  underground  corridor  between 
the  Temple  and  the  palace  of  Annas  became 
the  stage  of  a  thrilling  scene. 

The  impatience  of  the  separated  lovers  had 
now  silenced  the  warnings  of  prudence.  Laza 
rus  and  Zahara  had  agreed  to  meet  at  the  old 
rendezvous  ;  Abraham  and  Rebecca,  faithful 
tools  of  the  adventure,  and  the  only  medium  of 
communication,  had  done  their  docile  and  sym 
pathetic  part  in  the  affair.  The  evening  and 
the  hour  had  arrived. 

Lazarus  found  both  more  difficulty  and  more 
ease  than  he  had  anticipated,  in  approaching  the 
corridor  from  the  Temple.  Priests  were  abun 
dant  and  attentive.  The  builder  was  obliged  to 
watch  his  chance  by  the  wariest.  It  even  oc 
curred  to  him  that  his  motions  were  observed  by 
special  order ;  but  he  abandoned  this  theory 
when  a  sleek  young  Levite,  with  whom  he  was 
conversing,  deliberately  interrupted  the  inter- 


COME  FORTH.  265 

view,  and,  begging  his  pardon  for  leaving  him 
for  a  moment,  moved  off  to  obey  some  summons 
from  the  altar,  promising  to  return  immediately. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  when  the  Levite  came 
back  Lazarus  had  disappeared. 

If  the  priest  had  looked  at  the  tapestry  which 
hung  before  the  marble  slab  that  closed  the  cor 
ridor,  he  might  have  seen  the  fine  material  trem 
ble  slightly,  as  a  thing  does  which  has  recently 
been  set  in  motion.  Whether  he  cast  an  eye  in 
that  direction  or  not,  however,  Lazarus  was  not 
there  to  see. 

He  reached  the  extreme  end  of  the  passage 
something  past  the  hour  appointed.  It  was 
empty  and  still.  He  pushed  the  great  slide 
softly.  It  was  a  cold  night,  and  fortunately 
dark,  but  without  rain ;  there  was  frost  upon 
the  grape-vine,  which  hung  with  shriveled  leaves, 
a  scantier  shield  than  it  used  to  be.  Lazarus 
dared  not  speak  :  he  listened  in  an  agony  which 
mounted  to  ecstasy  when  he  heard  the  delicate, 
quick  fluctuations  of  a  woman's  panting  breath. 
Two  passionate  whispers  crossed  each  other. 

"ZaharaJ" 

"  Lazarus  !  "  and  he  had  her  in  his  hungry 
arms. 

Of  what  do  lovers  talk  after  a  three  months' 
separation,  and  in  face  of  detection,  disgrace, 
and  death  ?  At  first  it  seemed  to  Lazarus  that 


266  COME   FORTH. 

words  were  as  idle  as  the  dripping  of  the  dew 
from  the  dank  roof  of  the  vault.  It  was  frosty, 
by  the  way,  for  so  much  dew,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  once  to  wonder  where  it  came  from  ;  but 
neither  this  nor  any  other  coherent  thought  had, 
for  some  time,  any  distinct  lodgment  in  his 
mind.  His  lips  groped  in  the  dark  for  her 
eyes  and  mouth  and  soft  cheek.  Her  sweet 
breath  mingled  with  his  own.  He  had  not 
dared  bring  a  lamp  into  the  passage  this  time, 
and  the  lovers  put  up  their  hands  and  felt  for 
and  felt  over  each  other's  features,  like  blind 
people. 

"  It  is  like  meeting  in  the  tomb,"  said  Laza 
rus,  with  a  sudden  shudder. 

"  Thy  cheek  hath  grown  thin,  my  dear  lord," 
whispered  Zahara  mournfully.  "It  is  hollow 
beneath  my  finger-tip.  Thou  palest;  thou 
weakenest ;  thou  diest." 

"  Better  death  than  life  without  thee,  Za 
hara,"  replied  her  lover  hopelessly. 

"  Nay,  then,  my  love,  thou  losest  courage  and 
the  heart  of  a  man.  Have  cheer,  my  own. 
Take  it,  from  my  lips  !  " 

She  lifted  her  warm  face. 

"  Thy  kiss  would  give  a  man  life  though  he 
did  lie  in  the  sepulchre  ! "  breathed  Lazarus,  in 
a  different  tone.  "Now,  by  the  memory  of 
Eden  and  the  love  of  our  first  parents,  Zahara, 


COME  FORTH.  267 

I  will  not  die  for  thee,  neither  will  I  live  with 
out  thee,  but  I  will  have  thee  to  wife  !  " 

"But  how?"  asked  Zahara,  with  a  sweet 
timidity.  She  had  no  faith  in  the  possibilities 
of  the  situation,  but  she  liked  her  lover's  willful 
words.  Less  princess,  now,  and  all  woman,  she 
gainsaid  him  not,  but  clung  to  him  and  trembled 
silently. 

"  There  is  but  one  way,  Zahara,"  cried  Laza 
rus  vehemently ;  "  I  know  none  other,  and  thou 
must  take  it  if  thou  lovest  me  as  woman  loves 
who  will  wed  and  obey  her  lord.  Thou  must 
leave  all  and  follow  me." 

"  But  whither  ?  "  demanded  Zahara  character 
istically.  Zahara  was  very  much  in  love,  but 
she  had  the  calculating  temperament.  She  did 
not  plunge  headlong  even  into  delight.  She 
might  have  made  a  very  good  Arab,  but  she  had 
been  a  princess  too  long.  She  temporized,  and 
reasoned,  and  objected,  even  while  she  clung  to 
her  lover  cheek  to  cheek,  with  soft  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"  Break  loose  from  it  all !  "  entreated  Laza 
rus.  — "  Thy  palace,  thy  father,  thy  past,  thy 
world !  Let  it  go,  Zahara,  for  love's  sake ! 
Enter  thou  mine !  Accept  thou  the  life  of  thy 
husband  and  thy  worshiper !  " 

"  Tell  me,  then  —  what  life  ?  How  do  we 
manage  ?  What  dost  thou  mean  ?  "  persisted 
Zahara. 


268  COME  FORTH. 

"  Yield  these  accursed  beliefs  and  follies  that 
separate  us  !  "  demanded  Lazarus  more  imperi 
ously.  "  Come  thou  bravely  unto  me,  and  say 
unto  the  world,  '  I  follow  the  faith  of  my  hus 
band.'  Let  us  away  from  the  whole  barking 
crowd,  priests,  temple,  people.  Let  us  choose 
the  better  faith,  the  simpler  life.  Let  us  join 
the  career  of  the  best  and  noblest  man  in  all 
Judea,  and  go  forth  from  this  place,  as  his  disci 
ples  go,  respected  and  free,  into  other  lands  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee,"  interrupted  Za- 
hara,  shrinking  a  little  from  Lazarus. 

"  O  my  love,  play  not  with  me,"  pleaded  Laz 
arus.  "  I  do  but  speak  plainly.  I  see  no  other 
road  to  happiness  for  thee  and  me.  Remain 
thou  in  the  world  of  thy  father  the  High  priest, 
and  of  the  Temple,  and  of  the  Sanhedrim, 
and  of  the  rank  and  the  faith  to  which  thou 
art  born,  and  thou  canst  no  more  be  mine  than 
the  sun  in  mid-heaven,  and  that  thou  knowest 
well.  As  we  meet  here,  beneath  the  surface 
of  the  sweet  earth,  at  peril  of  thy  good  name 
and  my  poor  life,  so  must  our  love  crawl  under 
ground,  a  dark  and  deadly  corridor  in  which 
two  souls  shall  grope  and  stifle  unto  death. 
Break  thou  forth  right  bravely  ;  be  thou  most 
womanly,  Zahara,  and  choose  the  path  that  thy 
lord's  feet  must  tread.  I  have  worldly  goods  ; 
thou  canst  not  suffer  at  my  hands  for  the  daily 


COME  FORTH.  269 

needs  of  thy  delicate  life.  Follow  me,  Zahara  ! 
Follow  me  among  the  people  who  will  reverence 
thee,  and  me,  and  the  love  we  bear  each  other. 
Follow  me  to  a  new  life,  —  new  hopes,  new  faith, 
new  deeds,  new  joy." 

"  And  call  the  Nazarene  my  Master  ?  "  asked 
Zahara,  in  a  cutting  tone.  Her  arms  dropped 
from  the  neck  of  her  lover.  She  turned  coldly. 
He  could  feel  her  pliant  figure  grow  rigid  and 
straighten  haughtily. 

Suddenly  she  trembled,  all  her  muscles  re 
laxed,  and  she  began  to  sob. 

At  this  moment  an  ominous  sound  reached 
the  ears  of  the  absorbed  and  distressed  lovers. 
It  was  not  the  falling  of  the  drops  from  the  roof 
of  the  vault ;  it  was  not  the  flitting  of  a  stray 
bat  nor  the  rustle  of  any  creature  of  the  dark 
ness,  companion  of  their  hiding-place.  It  was 
the  stealthy  groping  of  a  human  hand.  The 
slide  which  closed  the  mouth  of  the  passage 
stirred  from  the  outside. 

"  Hide  thee,  hide  thee,  Zahara  !  "  commanded 
Lazarus,  in  the  hissing  whisper  of  agony.  "  Fly 
thou  down  the  corridor,  where  'tis  darkest  to 
the  eye.  When  the  light  enters,  keep  thou  me 
in  sight,  but  stay  thyself  beyond  it.  Farewell, 
and  God  keep  thee !  " 

A  little  to  his  surprise,  for  there  was  no  count 
ing  upon  Zahara,  the  girl  obeyed  him  ;  with  one 


270  COME  FORTH. 

swift  penitent  kiss  she  darted  and  fled  as  he 
had  bidden. 

Lazarus  stood  still  in  his  place,  and  watched 
the  slide  open.  He  was  unarmed.  He  could 
only  meet  his  fate,  —  like  a  woman,  he  thought, 
or  a  coward.  The  slide  moved  cautiously.  The 
faint  starlight  fell  in,  the  night  air  rushed,  the 
leaves  of  the  grape-vine  rustled  crisply.  A  fig 
ure,  like  the  figure  of  a  guardsman,  knelt  be 
tween  the  vine  and  the  passage,  peering  in. 
Behind  this  appeared  a  form  resembling  that  of 
the  young  Levite  who  was  called  away  so  oppor 
tunely  in  the  Temple.  Lazarus  made  no  motion. 
The  figures  retreated  ;  voices  consulted  in  whis 
pers  ;  feet  crushed  the  vines. 

A  torch  flared,  and  the  High  priest,  tall  and 
awful,  towered  against  the  light.  Lazarus  had 
not  abandoned  his  position  near  the  entrance. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  face  alone  whatever 
happened.  Annas  and  Lazarus  looked  each 
other  silently  in  the  eye.  Both  men  were  deadly 
pale,  one  from  rage,  and  one  from  mortal  peril. 
Both  were  perfectly  self-possessed. 

The  High  priest  spoke  first :  — 

"  I  pray  your  pardon,  sir  builder,  but  may  I 
be  so  bold  as  to  inquire  your  errand  in  a  spot 
sacred  to  the  temple  of  Jehovah  and  the  service 
of  His  ministers?  It  must  needs  be  an  impor 
tant  one  that  finds  an  honorable  man,  such  as 


COME  FORTH.  271 

yourself,  sneaking  like  an  assassin  upon  privacy 
which  a  son  of  the  desert  would  respect." 

"  My  errand  is  without  dishonor,"  answered 
Lazarus  composedly.  "  It  is  needless  for  me  to 
explain  it.  My  word  would  scarcely  have  value 
for  you  under  these  circumstances." 

"  Possibly  not,"  returned  Annas,  with  a  sneer. 
"  But  is  this  all  you  have  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  pray,"  urged  Lazarus,  with  a  change  in 
his  tone,  which  suddenly  broke  into  an  agonized 
appeal,  "  I  pray,  for  the  most  sacred  of  reasons, 
which  would  be  urgently  appreciated  by  your 
self  did  you  comprehend  them,  —  I  pray  you  to 
allow  me  to  depart  in  peace  until  I  reach  the 
Temple  exit.  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will 
return  again  unto  you  and  meet  your  demands, 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  do  so  without  the  scan 
dal  of  interference." 

"  The  honor  of  a  skulking  man  is  a  poor 
guaranty,"  replied  the  High  priest  frigidly. 
44  You  will  not  experience  surprise  if  I  decline 
your  request." 

"I  am  in  your  power,"  answered  Lazarus, 
bowing  drearily.  He  listened  with  held  breath, 
fearing  some  betrayal  of  her  presence  on  the 
part  of  Zahara.  She  gave  no  sign.  The  black 
throat  of  the  corridor  yawned  silently  beyond 
the  line  of  lessening  light  where  the  flare  of  the 
torch  died. 


272  COME  FORTH. 

"  I  am  in  your  power,"  repeated  Lazarus. 

"  Which  I  propose  to  exercise,"  said  the 
High  priest  coldly.  "  Guards  !  advance ! 
Whatever  be  your  business,  my  ex-builder,  it  is 
one  which  deserves  the  punishment  it  shall 
receive.  Think  you,"  exploded  Annas,  sud 
denly  casting  off  the  disguise  of  icy  self-com 
mand  which  he  had  chosen  to  assume,  —  "  think 
you,  Lazarus,  that  I  know  not  the  true  nature 
of  your  abominable  business  ?  Think  you  that 
I  have  been  a  gullible,  easy  old  man,  blind  to 
the  honor  of  my  household,  and  negligent  to  the 
virtue  of  my  daughter  ?  That  I  have  not  pene 
trated  your  scandalous  design  ?  That  I  had  not 
the  intelligence  to  discover  that  the  sacred, 
secret  avenues  of  the  Temple  were  converted 
into  the  scene  of  a  low  love  affair  ?  Think  you 
that  I  do  not  recognize  in  you,  you  dog  of  a 
Pharisee,  the  seducer  of  the  daughter  of  the 
High  priest  of  Zion  ?  " 

"Now,  by  the  great  name  of  Jehovah,,  re 
vered  by  Sadducee  and  Pharisee,  by  priest  and 
layman,"  cried  Lazarus  passionately,  u  and  by 
the  honor  of  a  lady,  the  noblest,  the  purest,  the 
whitest,  the  most  sacred  in  the  land  of  our  peo 
ple,  I  swear  that  the  character  of  this  lady  shall 
be  protected!  I  call  you  to  witness,  ye  guards 
of  the  High  priest,  that  I  summon  to  the  death, 
though  I  am  a  man  unarmed,  him  who  has  ut- 


COME  FORTH.  273 

tered  these  base  words  against  the  fair  name  of 
Zahara !  " 

With  this,  maddened  by  very  helplessness  and 
blind  with  rage,  Lazarus  sprang  (as  young  blood 
will)  desperately  and  hopelessly  upon  his  tor 
mentor.  A  cold  laugh  replied  to  his  futile  and 
foolish  movement.  There  was  a  low  command, 
a  swift  movement,  a  grating  sound,  and  Lazarus 
bounded  against  the  solid  slide,  which  closed 
violently  in  his  face.  A  few  dull  strokes,  fol 
lowed  by  resounding  blows,  and  Lazarus  real 
ized  to  his  horror  that  the  exit  from  the  corridor 
was  forcibly  shut,  and  that  he  and  Zahara  were 
barred  in. 

Lazarus  gave  a  mighty  push  against  the  inert 
stone.  He  tugged  with  ferocious  tenacity  at 
the  brazen  ring.  He  listened  with  ear  against 
the  clammy  slab.  Footsteps  deadened  to  his 
hearing.  A  low,  jeering  laugh  echoed  in  the 
distance,  and  Lazarus  was  left  alone.  No,  not 
alone ! 

"  Zahara !  "  he  cried  in  anguish.      "  Zahara ! " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  God  of  my  fathers !  Where  art  thou,  O 
my  love?"  He  groped  with  hands  and  feet 
along  the  black  shaft.  In  its  steep  descent  he 
stumbled.  His  fingers  touched  the  hem  of  a 
dress.  With  delicate  reverence  his  hand  sought 
her  face. 


274  COME  FORTH. 

"  Zahara,  my  love  !  I  am  here.  I  am  thy 
Lazarus.  Thou  art  not  dead.  Would  that 
thou  hadst  never  seen  my  face !  Then  would  st 
thou  be  safe  in  thy  father *s  house."  Never 
before  had  Lazarus  reproached  himself  for  the 
love  he  had  inspired  in  this  proud  girl.  Zahara 
still  stood.  Her  two  hands  supported  her. 
Their  palms  were  turned  backward,  each  upon 
the  damp,  uneven  stones.  Lazarus  took  one  and 
kissed  it  and  warmed  it  on  his  breast.  Then 
the  girl  sighed  deeply,  and  said  in  an  imperious 
and  happy  tone  :  — 

"  Here,  Rebecca.  Hurry,  my  girl.  Bring  my 
sweetmeats  and  my  bracelets,  my  handglass  and 
mine  ointments.  I  will  dress  me  in  my  splen 
dor,  for  Herod  suppeth  with  us  to-night.'* 

"  Jehovah  guide  me !  "  groaned  Lazarus. 
uHer  reason  hath  fled  from  her." 

He  dared  not  touch  the  lips  of  the  half-deliri 
ous  girl.  Zahara  had  a  courageous  nature  ;  but 
no  woman  delicately  reared  in  gold  and  purple 
can  bear  such  a  situation  as  this  unmoved.  The 
horrible  darkness,  the  deadly  dampness,  the  peril 
to  life  and  lover,  the  terrible  words  of  her  father, 
had  mounted  to  her  brain  like  a  deadly  drug. 
But  Lazarus  knew  too  well  that  he  had  no  time 
to  lose  in  the  tenderness  of  anxiety.  His  only 
hope  now  lay  in  forcing  an  exit  through  the 
Temple,  blinding  or  bribing  the  priests,  and  con- 


COME  FORTH.  275 

juring  Zahara  somehow  to  safety  in  the  outer 
world.  Without  delaying  to  restore  the  girl,  he 
snatched  her  and  dragged  her  through  the  shaft, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Temple,  making  such 
speed  with  his  precious  burden  as  he  miserably 
could.  In  the  necessary  roughness  of  the  mad 
and  desperate  rush,  Zahara's  wits  began  to 
clarify.  The  descent  had  now  become  perilous. 
She  spoke  confusedly  :  — 

"  Where  are  we,  Lazarus  ?  This  is  not  the 
tomb?" 

"  No,  sweetheart,  follow  me.  There,  take  my 
hand.  The  way  is  slippery.  Take  care.  We 
rush  to  the  Temple.  Perchance  at  the  horns  of 
the  altar  none  dare  molest  us." 

"  But  I  hear  the  rushing  of  waters.  Is  it  the 
river  of  death  ?  " 

"  Thou  nearest  naught,"  said  Lazarus.  "  This 
horror  ringeth  in  thine  ears." 

The  descent  became  steeper.  The  limestone 
steps  grew  more  slippery.  At  any  time  it  was 
exhausting  to  Lazarus  to  run  the  passage.  lie 
had  often  fallen  heavily.  His  hands  and  knees 
bore  many  a  scar.  Just  where  that  hidden  way 
was  about  to  descend  under  the  Valley  of  the 
Cheesemongers  (for  thus  deeply  was  the  pas 
sage  excavated  in  the  limestone  valley  in  order 
to  mount  to  the  Temple  on  the  other  side),  Za 
hara  stopped,  clutched  Lazarus,  and  said  :  — 


276  COME  FORTH. 

"  Hearest  tliou  not  the  rushing  now  ?  We  are 
coming  upon  the  waters." 

But  Lazarus,  who  had  often  heard  this  sound 
as  of  a  torrent,  said  again  :  — 

"  It  is  naught,  dearest.  The  waters  are  above. 
Thou  shalt  come  to  the  Temple  dry  shod.  Keep 
up  thy  strength,  and  despair  not." 

He  had  no  time  to  comfort  her  as  his  heart 
would.  He  felt  a  dumb  fear  lest  the  other  stone 
door  were  barred,  too.  He  redoubled  his  pace, 
and  Zahara  followed  downward.  At  this  mo 
ment  his  foot  splashed  sandal-deep  in  water.  He 
stopped.  They  listened  :  he  stood  with  his  arm 
protectingly  over  her  shoulder,  she  with  her  head 
upon  his  heart.  The  maiden's  ears  had  not  been 
deceived.  The  murmuring  of  dashing  water  was 
now  clearly  distinguishable.  Lazarus  thought 
that  they  were  within  twenty  feet  of  the  bottom 
of  the  descent.  They  were  beneath  the  Tyro- 
p03on  Valley.  He  fancied  he  could  hear  the 
breathing  of  the  city  as  it  slept.  He  could  not 
believe  that  it  was  water  at  his  feet.  He  stooped, 
and  fell  backward  as  he  did  so.  He  touched 
and  tasted.  u  It  is  icy  as  the  snows  of  Leba 
non,"  he  murmured  to  himself. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Zahara.  "  Why  go  we 
not  on?  It  is  cold,  and  I  am  tired.  Is  it  much 
farther  to  the  Temple  ?  " 

A  low,   gurgling   noise  was   now   heard.     It 


COME   FORTH.  277 

seemed  to  come  from  the  ascent  ahead  of  them. 
Zahara  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  Water  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  feel  it  in  front  of 
me.  I  touch  it."  Lazarus  could  not  answer. 
The  horror  of  the  situation  completely  unmanned 
him.  He  stooped  again,  and  his  hands  followed 
those  of  Zahara,  and  groped  down  the  descent. 
The  tips  of  their  fingers,  their  hands,  their  wrists, 
were  enveloped  in  a  pool  of  cold  water.  The 
depth  at  their  feet  increased  rapidly.  Lazarus 
lost  his  head,  bade  Zahara  stand  still,  and  madly 
plunged  down.  He  slipped.  He  was  waist  deep, 
shoulder  deep,  before  he  knew  it.  The  water 
chilled  him  to  the  marrow,  and  dragged  him 
down.  It  now  flashed  upon  him  for  the  first 
time  that  this  was  a  part  of  the  High  priest's 
diabolical  plot  to  murder  them.  He  called, 
"  Zahara,  I  drown  !  Help  me  !  "  and  made  a 
mighty  effort  to  regain  his  footing.  The  girl  in 
the  meantime  had  unwound  her  brilliant  Damas 
cus  shawl,  which  was  fully  eight  feet  long.  She 
had  retreated  so  that  the  flood  only  bathed  her 
feet. 

"  I  throw  my  shawl  to  thee,  Lazarus,  my  love  !  " 
cried  Zahara.  "  Seize  it,  and  thou  art  safe  !  " 

Lazarus  felt  the  drapery  touch  the  water  be 
side  him.  He  said  nothing,  but  concentrated 
his  weakened  body  upon  the  effort  to  reach  the 
shawl.  Zahara  pulled  as  she  never  could  have 


278  COME  FORTH. 

done  before  love  armed  her  muscle.  Lazarus 
was  soon  at  her  feet.  She  caught  him  by  the 
arm.  Hers  was  the  clear  brain  now,  and  the 
strong  body.  Lazarus  was  an  exhausted  man. 

"  We  must  away  and  back,  or  the  flood  will 
overwhelm  us,"  she  cried  authoritatively. 

The  waters  bubbled  beneath  them  like  an  in 
fernal  spring.  The  torrent  chased  them  and 
licked  their  feet.  The  slippery  limestone  be 
trayed  their  footing,  and  they  fell.  Then  they 
crawled  upon  their  hands  and  knees.  They 
struggled  to  their  feet  and  feebly  ran,  and  gained 
a  distance  hand  in  hand.  Now  they  stopped,  and 
heard  the  waters  gurgling  below,  behind  them. 
Then,  despairingly,  they  climbed  again.  The 
cataract  dashed  against  them  in  the  darkness. 
They  could  but  cling,  and  when  they  stopped 
they  kissed.  They  could  not  speak.  Now  Laz 
arus  began  to  grow  weaker.  Zahara  took  him 
by  one  hand  and  dragged,  and  then  by  both 
hands,  while  she  struggled  up  the  ascent,  sitting 
on  each  step,  to  get  a  better  chance  to  pull  her 
lover.  As  she  did  so,  the  water  hissed  and 
swirled  and  caught  them.  There  was  a  roar 
above.  It  was  the  echo  of  the  waters  below. 
Now  Zahara  panted.  Her  heart  gave  way. 
Then  the  stairs  on  which  she  was  crawling 
ceased,  and  there  was  a  level  walk  for  a  few  feet. 
Lazarus  recovered  breath.  They  staggered  and 


COME  FORTH.  279 

ran,  if  such  feeble  steps  could  be  called  running. 
The  reverberation  in  the  tunnel  increased.  They 
heard  the  waters  ripple  upon  the  floor  of  the 
passage.  Another  ascent  came.  There  were  no 
steps.  The  water  poured  upon  them.  It  was  so 
steep  and  slippery  that  they  could  not  make 
headway.  Zahara  led  the  way.  Beaten  back, 
they  stopped  for  breath  and  courage.  The  res 
pite  was  too  much  for  Lazarus.  He  fainted. 
Zahara  supported  him  until  the  weight  proved 
too  heavy  for  her  strength ;  then  let  him  sink 
toward  the  torrent ;  she  fell  down  beside  him, 
and  drew  his  head  upon  her  bosom.  She  thought 
him  dead.  She  knew  her  own  end  would  come 
soon.  She  heard  the  profluence  of  waters  with 
a  kind  of  large  indifference.  How  long  would 
it  take  until  the  pool  of  death  overwhelmed  her  ? 
What  cared  she  ?  She  would  die  like  a  queen, 
for  her  king  was  there.  The  flood  arose.  Her 
waist  was  submerged.  She  lifted  her  lover's 
face  higher  toward  her  own.  She  was  ready 
for  the  last  kiss. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FACE  to  face  with  a  hideous  death,  Zahara's 
mind  made  a  sudden  bound  into  a  train  of 
thought  quite  foreign  to  her. 

"  Here  is  a  chance  for  that  Nazarene  fellow. 
If  he  were  what  Lazarus  thinketh  him,  I  would 
that  he  were  here  to  experiment  on  our  calam 
ity."  At  this  moment  the  lips  of  Lazarus 
moved,  and  the  fainting  man  muttered  some 
thing  with  agonized  indistinctness.  Zahara 
bent,  desperately  trying  to  hear  what  he  said,  — 
to  catch  his  last  dear  word.  The  water  had 
reached  his  throat ;  she  tried  to  raise  his  head  a 
little  higher  on  her  breast ;  her  own  form  rocked 
in  the  rising  torrent ;  as  she  stooped,  the  water 
poured  into  her  mouth,  and  she  gasped  with  the 
cold  shock.  The  head  of  her  lover  drooped, 
and  fell. 

"  Master  !  "  murmured  the  drowning  man. 
"  Lord,  forgive  me,  for  I  loved  thee  all  the 
while." 

"  Lazarus !  "  called  Zahara,  with  a  piercing 
cry,  "  arouse  thee !  The  water  recedeth  /  "  As 
she  spoke  these  words  the  current  sunk  sud- 


COME  FORTH.  281 

denly ;  it  made  a  strong  sucking  sound,  as  if 
the  water  were  drawn  off  by  some  powerful 
agency,  and  whirled  away  into  the  darkness 
of  an  unknown  pit.  A  torch  flared,  and  light 
filled  the  ghastly  death-trap,  out  of  which  she 
looked  up,  trembling,  to  see  the  haggard  coun 
tenance  of  the  High  priest  her  father. 

The  facts  of  the  situation  were  covered  by  a 
few  words.  Rebecca  the  slave  had  been  de 
voured  by  agony  and  indecision.  Between  dis 
tress  for  her  mistress  and  terror  for  herself,  the 
girl's  tongue  had  halted  a  little  too  long.  Who 
could  blame  her?  Death  was  an  easy  penalty 
to  inflict  upon  a  disobedient  servant  in  those 
dark  days ;  power  like  that  of  Annas  was  royal. 
A  girl's  life  would  have  gone  out  at  the  beck  of 
his  ringed  finger,  and  who  would  have  given  it 
a  thought?  Rebecca,  in  short,  was  afraid  to 
"tell."  It  was  not  until  a  guardsman  brought 
her  the  terrible  report  that  the  High  priest,  for 
vengeance  on  his  daughter's  lover,  had  turned 
the  waters  of  the  Temple  cistern  loose  into  the 
shaft  that  Rebecca  fled  shrieking  to  Annas, 
flinging  the  words  into  his  cold  ears  :  — 

"  Thy  daughter,  my  mistress,  the  lady  Zahara, 
perisheth  with  Lazarus !  " 

Cursing  the  girl  with  every  anathema  that 
agony  and  the  ecclesiastical  mind  suggested,  the 


282  COME   FORTH. 

wretched  father  ran  to  the  rescue  of  his  mur 
dered  child.  The  young  Levite  was  dispatched 
upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  turn  the  waters 
from  the  vault,  by  the  secret  process  known  only 
to  the  Temple  and  the  priesthood.  But  this, 
alas !  took  time,  —  and  time  there  was  none  to 
spare.  Annas  flung  open  the  slide  behind  the 
grape-vine,  sick  with  terror,  fully  prepared  to 
find  that  before  the  waters  could  be  drawn  off, 
Zahara,  the  princess  of  the  most  distinguished 
priestly  house  of  that  age,  would  have  been 
drowned  by  the  hand  of  her  own  father,  like 
vermin  in  a  crack. 

The  discovery  that  the  torrent  had  already 
been  drawn  from  the  tunnel  stupefied  Annas. 
For  the  moment,  the  question,  Who  did  it  ? 
shot  through  his  mind  with  a  force  that  dead 
ened  his  emotion  at  the  sight  of  his  daughter's 
living  face.  At  first  he  did  not  speak  to  the 
poor  girl,  who  crawled  to  meet  him,  dragging 
her  unconscious  lover  in  her  arms.  Had  Laz 
arus  learned  the  secret  of  brazen  screws  and 
hidden  springs  and  dark  mysteries  known  only 
to  the  altar  and  the  sacred  craft?  The  High 
priest  flung  a  glance  of  scowling  hate  at  the 
prostrate  man.  But  this  one  was  enough. 
That  limp,  helpless  figure,  that  ghastly  face, 
those  lifeless  arms?  Plainly  these  had  never 
performed  the  subtle  and  perilous  feat.  Clearly, 


COME  FORTH.  283 

it  was  almost,  if  not  altogether,  a  drowned  man 
who  lay  so  piteously  at  the  priest's  feet.  The 
countenance  of  Annas  now  expressed  the  acutest 
confusion.  Then  who  did  it  ? 

"Father!"  moaned  Zahara.  "Father,  we 
perish  !  Save  us,  if  thou  lovest  me !  " 

The  High  priest  made  no  reply.  He  stepped 
from  the  vault  scornfully,  and  slowly  turned  his 
back. 

"Father!"  cried  Zahara,  " dear  father!" 
The  girl  abased  herself,  falling  to  her  face  upon 
the  clammy  stone  ;  she  caught  at  the  hem  of  the 
priestly  garment,  and  kissed  it.  Then  the  High 
priest  averted  his  face,  and  spoke  :  — 

"  Thee  I  save.  Thou  art  the  daughter  of  my 
house,  and  the  child  of  my  loins.  Death  thou 
deservest,  for  thou  hast  brought  disgrace  upon 
the  name  of  Annas.  But  thee  I  save.  Follow 
me  from  this  place  of  shame.  Him  who  hath 
wrought  us  this  scandal  I  save  not.  Leave  him 
to  his  fate,  and  attend  my  will." 

"Nay,  then!  "  cried  Zahara  proudly,  "if  thou 
leavest  my  beloved,  thou  leavest  me.  I  stir  not 
from  this  living  tomb  without  him." 

She  clasped  the  unconscious  man  the  closer 
in  her  arms,  and  obstinately  seated  herself  on 
the  wet  limestone,  as  if  she  intended  to  remain 
there.  Lazarus  had  now  partially  regained  con 
sciousness,  but  not  to  such  an  extent  as  to  recog 
nize  the  facts  of  the  situation. 


284  COME  FORTH. 

His  heavy  head  stirred  upon  the  girl's  breast ; 
his  hand  sought  hers ;  delicately  he  lifted  it  to 
his  cold  lips,  and  laid  it  down. 

"  Zahara  !  "  he  murmured,  "  we  die  together. 
Thou  art  a  holy  woman.  Pray  thou  for  my 
spirit." 

There  was  something  in  the  reverence  of  these 
words  and  of  the  unconscious  man's  refined 
caress  which  impressed  the  High  priest  in  spite 
of  himself.  Those  were  rude  times,  and  love 
took  rude  forms  among  the  highest  of  men  and 
women.  The  suspicions  of  the  incensed  father 
were  fully  justifiable ;  but  had  he  here  the  signs 
of  a  coarse  amour  ?  Annas  hesitated  with  him 
self  for  a  perceptible  instant,  before  he  spoke 
again.  Zahara  made  the  most  of  the  instant ; 
she  clasped  his  knees,  and  clung  to  him,  and 
made  entreaty  of  him  that  would  have  moved  a 
worse  father  than  the  High  priest  to  something 
like  relenting. 

"  Let  us  from  this  ghastly  place !  "  cried  Za 
hara.  "  As  thou  art  a  man,  and  a  priest,  and 
a  father,  let  us  out  into  God's  air !  He  dieth 
here  within  mine  arms,  —  Lazarus  dieth  in  this 
dungeon.  Let  us  forth,  O  my  father,  for  I  go 
not  forth  without  him,  though  I  perish." 

"  Girl,  thou  goest  as  I  will,"  replied  the  High 
priest  icily.  "  Guards,  take  the  lady  thy  mis 
tress.  Deal  with  her  gently,  but  if  she  follow 


COME  FORTH.  285 

not  without  force,  force  be  it.  Eeturn  Zahara 
to  the  palace  of  her  father." 

Now,  for  the  first  time  hi  all  the  cruel  story 
of  that  night,  Zahara  shrieked  ;  and  a  goodly 
feminine  shriek  it  was.  The  girl  clasped  her 
two  beautiful  arms  stoutly  about  her  lover,  and 
sat  like  a  sphinx,  as  if  she  were  carveii  from  the 
limestone  vault.  Cry  after  cry  rang  from  her 
lips,  like  the  appeals  of  a  dying  woman.  Re 
becca,  hearing  piercing  sounds,  started  the  rumor 
that  her  mistress  was  about  to  be  murdered,  and 
in  a  moment  half  the  slaves  and  officers  of  the 
palace  were  rushing  to  the  scene.  The  scandal 
was  becoming  too  public  and  too  serious  to  be 
subdued.  Annas  uttered  a  holy  oath  and  turned 
upon  his  heel. 

"  Out  with  the  dog  of  a  Pharisee,  then ! 
Throw  him  over  the  palace-wall  into  the  high 
way,  and  leave  him  to  his  fate.  Take  the  lady 
Zahara  to  her  own  apartments,  and  be  done  with 
the  abominable  business,  and  hold  ye  your 
tongues  about  it,  or  I  tear  them  by  the  roots  !  " 

This  order  was  quickly  and  deftly  obeyed. 
Lazarus  and  Zahara  were  literally  torn  apart, 
and  thrust,  the  one,  unconscious,  into  the  high 
way  ;  the  other,  pleading  and  weeping,  toward 
the  palace.  The  slaves  scattered,  terrified.  The 
guards  followed  the  miserable  princess.  The 
High  priest  and  the  young  Levite  were  left 
alone. 


286  COME  FORTH. 

"  Thou  hast  been  to  the  Temple  and  re 
turned  ? "  inquired  Annas.  "  And  hast  done 
the  deed  that  I  commanded  ?  " 

"  The  deed  was  done,"  replied  the  Levite. 
u  When  I  reached  the  Temple,  lo,  the  waters  had 
been  turned  off  from  the  hidden  passage  into  the 
pools  before  me.  Likewise,  some  power  had 
evidently  opened  the  secret  conduit  from  the 
bottom  of  the  passage  into  the  Tyropoeon  sewer, 
for  the  flood  receded  with  strange  swiftness  even 
as  I  whirled  niy  torch  and  looked." 

"  Mysterious  !  "  muttered  Annas.  "  I  under 
stand  not  the  matter.  No  underling  now  serv 
ing  in  the  Temple  knoweth  the  secret  of  the 
conduits.  Who  hath  handled  them  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  tale  that  goeth  among  the 
priests,"  suggested  the  Levite  timidly.  "  I 
scarcely  know  whether  to  bear  it  unto  thee. 
But  I  did  find  a  curious  rumor  stirring  in  the 
Temple." 

u  I  demand  the  whole  of  it !  "  cried  Annas 
imperiously.  "  Tell  me  all  they  chattered  of, 
and  instantly !  " 

"  It  was  said,"  returned  the  Levite,  hesitat 
ing— 

"  By  the  God  of  our  fathers !  the  priests 
prated  of  a  miracle,  and  mentioned  that  Naz- 
arene  adventurer !  " 

"  But   that,  we  know,  is  impossible,"  added 


COME  FORTH.  287 

the  Levite  soothingly,  "  for  the  fellow  is  travel 
ing   and   preaching  somewhere,  yonder  beyond 
Jordan,   I  have  heard  the  rabble    say ;   at   all 
events,  he  is  not  in  Jerusalem." 
The  High  priest  made  no  reply. 

Toward  the  middle  watch  of  that  night,  Abra 
ham  the  servant  of  Lazarus,  having  been  dis 
patched  by  the  anxiety  of  Mary  in  search  of  her 
brother,  stumbled  upon  the  exhausted  man,  ly 
ing  helpless  at  the  roadside  in  a  dark  spot  in 
the  shadow  of  a  tower,  wherein  it  so  befell  that 
no  person  had  discovered  him,  either  to  molest 
or  relieve.  Lazarus  had  partially  recovered  his 
consciousness  ;  but  his  mind  wandered  still,  and 
his  physical  power  was  at  a  very  low  ebb. 

Abraham  managed  to  procure  a  litter  for  his 
master,  —  at  that  hour  of  the  night  this  was  no 
easy  task,  —  and  took  him  home  as  quickly  and 
quietly  as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances. 
Needing  more  assistance,  Abraham  stopped  on 
the  way  and  sought  it  of  Baruch,  the  neighbor 
of  Lazarus,  who  gave  it  heartily,  accompanying 
the  slave  and  the  bearers  to  the  house  of  Simon 
the  Leper.  Martha  was  asleep ;  but  Mary's 
sweet  face  peered  anxiously  from  the  doorway 
as  the  litter  halted.  Baruch  hastily  advanced, 
and  explained  the  matter  to  her. 

"  No  one  knoweth  the  cause  of  this  mishap," 


288  COME  FORTH. 

he  said  gently ;  "  I  least  of  all.  But  much  I  fear 
that  Lazarus  hath  been  hardly  dealt  with.  Say 
thou  naught  of  it.  Thy  brother  is  a  man  of 
eminence,  and  the  tongues  of  these  times  wag 
easily.  Say  thou  that  he  is  ailing,  and  keep  all 
men  from  the  doors  till  he  doth  recover." 

This  caution  was  of  the  wisest,  but  it  proved 
almost  impossible  to  follow  the  advice.  By 
morning  Lazarus  lay  in  his  own  bed,  a  very 
sick  man.  Rumors  of  his  condition,  mingled 
with  wild  tales  of  strange  causes  for  it,  had  got 
afloat.  Bethany  was  astir,  and  Jerusalem  gos 
siped.  Talkative  neighbors  gadded  about  the 
hamlet,  and  messages  of  curiosity  in  the  name 
of  sympathy  besieged  the  doors  of  the  sick 
man's  house. 

To  all  of  these  the  sisters  of  Lazarus  returned 
courteous  but  dignified  replies,  indicating  their 
desire  that  neighborly  service  should  remain  at 
a  distance  until  summoned,  and  expressing  the 
quiet  conviction  that  their  brother's  health  would 
be  quickly  reinstated.  By  the  morning  of  the 
second  day  the  condition  of  Lazarus  became  so 
serious  that  Mary,  more  sensitive  and  therefore 
less  hopeful  than  her  sister,  was  overwhelmed 
with  the  acutest  anxiety.  She  now  gave  her 
self  entirely  to  the  sick-room,  which  she  did  not 
suffer  herself  to  leave  even  for  the  most  neces 
sary  food  and  rest.  Martha  attended  to  the 


COME  FORTH.  289 

house,  and  to  the  messages  from  the  outside 
world.  The  leading  physicians  of  Jerusalem 
came  and  went.  Servants  moved  about  the 
court  with  velvet  feet  and  silent  tongues.  Laza 
rus  was  sinking  perceptibly. 

Upon  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day  of  his  ill 
ness,  Lazarus  turned  his  face  toward  the  light 
and  feebly  opened  his  eyes.  Between  him  and 
the  casement  a  woman's  face  hung  like  an  an 
gel's  in  a  blurred  cloud.  There  was  Mary  his 
sister,  patient  and  pale.  The  intensity  of  her 
love  and  anxiety  gave  dark  power  to  her  eyes, 
which  burned  like  flames  of  anguish  before  him. 
Lazarus  weakly  lifted  his  head,  and,  observing 
the  other  persons  present  in  the  room,  indicated 
by  a  motion  of  his  hand  and  eyelids  that  he 
wished  them  removed. 

His  wish  was  regarded,  as  the  whims  of  the 
dangerously  sick  are,  and  Mary  was  left  for  a 
few  moments  alone  with  him,  as  he  seemed  to 
desire. 

As  soon  as  the  sick  man  had  assured  himself 
of  this  fact,  he  clutched  the  hand  of  Mary  with 
a  distressing,  appealing  clasp,  and  tried  to  make 
over  to  her  some  burden  weighing  upon  his  con 
fused  thought.  This,  she  saw,  he  found  so  dif 
ficult  to  do  that  he  despaired  of  it,  and  his  effort 
and  despair  intensified  his  evident  suffering. 
Mary  gathered  her  wits,  and  thought  swiftly. 


290  COME  FORTH. 

She  knew  little  of  the  world  and  less  of  love ; 
but  even  Mary  had  divined  that  a  woman  might 
be  found  at  the  source  of  all  the  miseries  which 
had  befallen  her  brother. 

"  Dear  Lazarus,"  she  murmured,  "  I  under 
stand.  Whatever  thou  wiliest  I  will  do  —  for 
her  - —  or  for  thee.  Tell  me  her  name." 

Struggling  to  articulate,  Lazarus  managed  to 
breathe,  "  Zahara." 

"  Zahara  ?  Thou  speakest  not  of  the  daughter 
of  Annas  ?  " 

"  It  is  she." 

"  What  would  st  thou,  O  my  brother,  that  I  do 
for  this  Zahara  ?  " 

"  Remember  —  Zahara.     Shelter  —  Zahara." 

"  He  wandereth,"  thought  Mary.  "  How 
should  I  ever  shelter  Zahara?"  But  she  an 
swered  soothingly :  "  Dear  Lazarus,  what  more  ? 
What  else  desirest  thou  ? "  Lazarus  put  his 
cold  lips  to  his  sister's  ear,  and  whispered  one 
word,  a  name. 

"  Oh,"  moaned  Mary.  "  We  have  sent  for 
Him.  We  send  in  vain.  Messengers  go  hither 
and  thither.  Tliey  run  at  our  command.  He 
traveleth.  He  is  in  distant  places.  He  cometh 
not.  Thou  shalt  live  when  He  cometh.  Thou 
shalt  not  die.  He  loveth  thee." 

The  gray  countenance  of  the  sick  man  ex 
pressed  a  distress  amounting  to  agony.  He 


COME  FORTH.  291 

turned  his  head  feebly  to  and  fro  upon  his  pil 
low,  with  a  helpless,  hopeless  motion. 

"  I  did  neglect  him,"  he  groaned.  "  He  will 
not  come.  I  die.  He  cometh  not.  Tell  him  "  — 

44  What  shall  I  tell  him  ?"  sobbed  Mary.  Her 
tears  rained  on  her  brother's  face.  She  strug 
gled  to  command  herself,  and  dashed  them  away. 
Lazarus  did  not  answer.  Exhausted  by  exces 
sive  effort,  he  sank  into  something  like  a  swoon. 
The  color  of  his  face  took  on  a  mortal  hue. 
Terrified,  Mary  stirred  to  call  for  help ;  but  his 
hand  held  her  in  a  clasp  she  could  not  wrench  ; 
Lazarus  seemed  to  try  to  draw  her  back ;  his 
lips  moved ;  she  made  out  that  he  strove  to 
say:  — 

"Love  —  Forgive." 

With  these,  the  two  most  solemn  words  in  the 
range  of  human  speech,  Lazarus  lapsed  past  the 
power  of  speaking.  He  lay  as  he  was,  in  a 
stupor,  all  the  night,  recognizing  no  person  after 
this,  and  giving  no  further  evidence  of  conscious 
ness.  The  physicians  bustled  about,  making  a 
great  show  of  the  ignorant  art  of  their  times. 
Martha  wept  noisily  ;  but  Mary  sat  as  if  she 
were  turning  to  ice. 

At  daybreak,  without  a  struggle  and  without 
a  sign,  Lazarus  ceased  to  breathe  ;  the  beating 
of  his  heart  stopped ;  and  Mary  dully  heard 
voices  saying :  — 


292  COME  FORTH. 

"He  is  dead." 

Martha  came  and  tried,  with  unusual  gentle 
ness,  to  remove  Mary's  hand.  But  the  fingers 
of  the  corpse  had  grown  rigid  about  it.  It  was 
necessary  for  the  physicians  to  separate  the  clasp 
of  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Now  the  most  distressing  feature  of  this  dreary 
and  mysterious  death  was  one  which  the  sisters 
of  Lazarus  strove,  as  long  as  they  could,  to  con 
ceal  from  public  knowledge,  and  when  they  could 
keep  it  to  themselves  no  longer  mourned  over  it 
the  more  bitterly  for  that.  By  that  last  inter 
view,  Mary  had  been  put  in  a  position  more 
difficult  and  more  cruel  than  her  strong  self-pos 
session  gave  hint  of  to  the  consciousness  of  the 
dying  man. 

It  was  true  that  the  family  of  Lazarus  had 
made  every  effort  which  influence,  opulence, 
energy,  and  love  could  command  to  communi 
cate  with  the  great  Healer,  whose  skill  they  fully 
believed  could  have  averted  their  terrible  be 
reavement.  It  was  also  true  that  their  messen 
gers  had  reached  him. 

The  piteous  fact  was  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
had  refused  to  come  to  Bethany. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AT  all  events,  from  whatever  cause,  and 
whether  or  not  the  calamity  could  have  been 
prevented,  Lazarus  was  dead.  His  sensitive  life 
had  gone  out  like  a  candle  quenched  by  a  breath 
in  the  midst  of  a  feast.  The  torch-bearers  stared 
in  each  others'  faces,  and  glanced  into  the  dark 
ness  behind  them  with  the  sick  horror  that  sud 
den  death  always  produces,  and  more  than  any 
other  the  death  of  a  young  and  vigorous  man. 
It  is  somehow  particularly  expected  of  the  young 
and  popular  that  they  go  on  living.  The  emi 
nence  of  Lazarus  made  this  death  a  matter  of 
deep  public  interest.  His  social  position,  his  in 
fluence,  and  his  wealth  added  many  a  mourner 
to  the  crowd  who  poured  into  Bethany,  to  pass 
with  the  sisters,  Martha  and  Mary,  the  days  of 
formal  sorrow  by  which  it  was  the  custom  of 
their  people  to  bewail  the  dead. 

Martha  accepted  the  public  demonstration  ap 
preciatively.  It  suited  her,  as  a  testimony  to 
the  position  of  the  family.  She  received  her 
friends  with  many  expressions  of  her  own  pri 
vate  bereavement.  Martha  loved  Lazarus,  and 


294  COME  FORTH. 

she  was  really  afflicted.  But  Martha  liked  to 
listen  and  to  talk  ;  and  bereavement  only  empha 
sizes,  but  does  not  change,  the  nature  of  the 
bereaved. 

Mary  did  not  see  the  neighbors.  Mary  could 
not.  She  had  followed  her  brother  to  the  fam 
ily  sepulchre,  and  had  stood  with  bowed  and 
veiled  head  while  the  body  of  Lazarus  was  en 
tombed.  The  burial,  according  to  the  habit  of 
the  country,  took  place  upon  the  day  of  the 
death.  Mary  was  stunned  by  the  terrible  swift 
ness  with  which  everything  had  happened.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  death  had  literally  made  a 
snatch  at  her,  and  torn  the  very  heart  out  of  her 
life.  Mary  did  not  weep.  She  could  not.  She 
was  rigid  with  grief.  The  love  of  sister  for 
brother,  when  it  excels  its  kind,  is  one  of  the 
strongest,  as  it  is  one  of  the  purest,  in  the  world. 
The  love  of  Mary  for  Lazarus  was  a  womanly, 
unselfish,  and  now  pitiful  thing.  Mary  had  no 
life  of  her  own.  She  had  never  known  one. 
Since  Lazarus  was  a  little  fellow,  and  they  played 
together  in  the  court,  the  gentle  girl  had  existed 
only  for  and  only  in  her  younger  brother.  Mary 
was  the  saddest  woman  in  Judea  that  day.  No, 
not  the  saddest.  There  was  one  —  but  who  re 
membered  her?  Who  comforted  her?  In  hours 
like  these,  what  cries  go  up  to  Heaven  from  the 
last  and  deepest  anguish  of  unrecognized  love  ! 


COME  FORTH.  295 

From  the  palace  of  Annas  nothing  was  heard. 
Jerusalem  throbbed  with  the  death  of  Lazarus ; 
but  the  palace  gave  no  sign.  The  casements 
were  closed.  Doors  were  curtained.  Servants 
were  dumb.  The  High  priest  was  invisible. 
There  were  rumors  that  a  slave  had  been  pun 
ished  or  tortured  in  his  princely  family.  These 
changed  into  a  report  that  a  slave  was  missing,  — 
whether  murdered  or  fled,  who  knew  ?  And  who 
cared  ?  In  the  general  excitement  and  sorrow, 
the  palace  was  dumb. 

For  the  cruelest  of  the  gossip  that  buzzed 
in  Bethany  the  tongue  of  Malachi  was  respon 
sible. 

"  This  Jesus,  this  prater,  this  boaster  and  sor 
cerer,  —  now  we  have  the  nature  of  the  fellow 
put  to  the  test.  What  was  our  eminent  neigh 
bor  Lazarus  ?  His  patron  and  his  friend.  How 
hath  the  famous  Healer  dealt  with  him  ?  Look 
ye,  my  neighbors,  did  he  answer  the  call  of  mor 
tal  need  ?  Did  he  come  to  the  dying  bed  of  Laz 
arus  ?  Did  he  stretch  forth  that  mighty  power 
we  hear  so  much  about,  and  prevent  this  impor 
tant  death  which  has  left  sorrow  in  all  our  coun 
try  ?  Where  was  Jesus  of  Nazareth  that  Laza 
rus  of  Bethany  lies  dead  ?  " 

Alas,  where  was  he  ?  More  than  Malachi  cast 
this  significant  question  upon  the  agitated  dis 
cussions  of  the  week.  The  state  of  public  feel- 


296  COME  FORTH. 

ing  and  opinion  concerning  the  Nazarene  had 
intensified  rapidly,  we  may  say  terribly,  during 
the  months  of  that  memorable  winter.  The  most 
bitterly  hated  and  the  most  tenderly  beloved  man 
in  Judea  and  its  surrounding  principalities  had 
now  become  the  most  perplexed  and  imperiled. 
Those  who  loved  him  most  intelligently  and 
courageously,  and  who  shared  the  risks  and  ex 
citement  of  his  mission,  were,  in  fact,  agreed  to 
prevent  him  from  returning  to  Jerusalem,  if  they 
could.  His  gentle  and  merciful  career  had  now 
passed  the  stage  of  philanthropy,  and  taken  on 
the  hard  name  of  political  adventure.  No  longer 
was  he  looked  upon  as  a  harmless  fanatic,  an 
amiable  sorcerer,  a  dabbler  in  healing,  an  excel 
lent  missionary.  Sanhedrim  and  governor  had 
scrutinized  the  man.  Priest  and  prince  watched 
him.  The  dangerous  title  of  revolutionist  had 
become  attached  to  him. 

What  then  ?  Was  Jesus  of  Nazareth  afraid  ? 
Did  he  stay  away  from  Bethany,  forsooth,  lest 
he  should  be  stoned  ?  Did  he  allow  his  chosen 
friend  to  die  without  even  the  most  ordinary 
services  of  friendship,  because  he  himself  was 
not  ready  to  run  sacred  risks  ?  Or,  wary  as  pre 
tenders  are,  did  he  remove  himself  lest  the  weak 
ness  of  his  claims  should  be  exposed  by  this  con 
clusive  test?  For  whatever  reason,  did  he  not 
dare  to  show  himself  among  the  friends,  now  the 
mourners  of  Lazarus  ? 


COME  FORTH.  297 

"  He  is  a  shrewd  fellow,"  cried  Malachi  the 
Pharisee,  making  the  most  of  his  opportunity 
again  to  command  the  ears  of  his  neighbors,  and 
these,  alas  !  the  fickle  people  easily  gave  him. 
"  This  upstart  is  no  fool.  He  estimates  the  in 
telligence  of  the  citizens  of  Bethany  correctly. 
He  knows  that  we  are  not  to  be  duped  for  our 
pains.  How  now  !  If  this  Jesus  is  what  ye 
have  believed  him,  could  he  not  save  his  inti 
mate  friend  from  an  untimely  death  ?  Would 
he  not,  if  so  be  he  could  do  the  deed  ?  People 
of  Bethany !  people  of  Jerusalem  and  the  neigh 
borhood  !  I  appeal  to  ye !  Was  I  not  correct 
in  the  value  I  put  upon  this  cowardly  and  de 
ceitful  fellow  ?  " 

At  this  moment  there  passed  by  the  group  a 
man  and  a  woman,  whose  faces  were  turned  in 
the  direction  of  Simon  the  Leper's  house.  These 
were  Ariella  and  Baruch,  happy  man  and  wife, 
on  their  way  to  sorrow  with  the  sufferers  in  the 
bereaved  home.  Their  faces  wore  the  subdued 
and  gentle  sadness  of  sympathy  ;  but  the  rich 
personal  joy  of  health,  freedom,  youth,  and  wed 
lock  burned  through  their  veil  of  neighborly 
feeling  like  the  sun  blazing  through  a  mist.  It 
was  like  looking  upon  souls  in  Paradise  to  look 
upon  those  two. 

"  There,"  retorted  Amos  of  Gethsemane,  turn 
ing  upon  Malachi  with  curling  lip,  —  "  there  you 
have  your  answer.  Look  to  it !  " 


298  COME  FORTH. 

"  But  how  say  you  ?  "  cried  another  contemp 
tuous  voice,  "  that  the  Nazarene  has  allowed  his 
friend  to  die  like  any  common  neglected  man  ?  " 

"  His  will  I  know  not,"  answered  Amos  sol 
emnly,  "  but  I  know  that  it  is  the  will  of  a  wise 
and  holy  man.  More  I  need  not  know." 

"Verily,  thou  art  easily  satisfied,"  laughed 
some  one  scornfully. 

At  this  moment  Enoch,  the  lad  who  was  wont 
to  guide  blind  Baruch,  ran  up  to  the  gossiping 
group  with  exciting  news. 

It  was  reported  that  the  Nazarene  had  been 
seen  that  morning  approaching  Bethany. 

Now  this  was  the  fourth  day  since  the  death 
of  Lazarus.  Within  the  house  of  Simon  the 
Leper  the  first  spasm  of  grief  had  subsided  into 
the  first  alternative  of  quiet  exhaustion.  Mar 
tha's  pale  and  saddened  face,  subdued  by  a  new 
gentleness,  bent  over  the  direction  of  the  mid 
day  meal  with  a  conscious  effort  to  estrange  her 
thoughts  from  her  sorrow.  It  seemed  to  Martha 
that  if  she  could  once  stir  up  a  stupid  maid  to 
provide  for  the  mourners  decently  she  should 
feel  better.  But  Mary  sat  in  the  darkened  room 
where  her  darling  had  died.  Her  face,  buried 
in  her  hands,  lay  upon  the  sacred  bed  whence 
they  had  carried  him  to  his  tomb.  She  sat 
upon  the  hard  floor.  Her  long,  fair  hair  fell 
about  the  crouching  figure.  The  casement  was 


COME  FORTH.  299 

closed.  Light  came  in  through  the  cracks  in 
thin,  radiant  lines,  on  which  the  motes  of  dust 
danced  like  little  spirits.  Mary  watched  them, 
now  and  then,  dully.  She  had  ceased  to  weep. 
She  felt  a  physical  coldness  at  her  heart  which 
made  her  understand  what  men  meant  when 
they  said,  "  My  heart  is  turning  to  stone."  She 
repeated  to  herself,  "  Lazarus  is  dead." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  stir  in  the  silent  house. 
Voices  started,  and  hushed.  Footsteps  fell  and 
ceased.  Something  had  happened  below.  But 
what  then  ?  Nothing  could  happen  now  that 
mattered  any  more.  Mary  did  not  raise  her 
head  to  listen.  Then  Martha  entered  the  room. 
She  hurried,  but  she  trod  softly.  She  came  up 
and  put  her  hand  on  Mark's  hair  with  the 
motherly  gesture  of  an  elder  sister. 

"  Mary,  arise  thee.  Abraham  bringeth  us 
great  news.  The  Master  cometh  from  Jericho, 
and  is  already  on  his  way  to  Bethany.  Arise 
thee,  and  come  with  me,  that  we  may  meet 
him." 

But  Mary  burst  into  terrible  sobs,  and  shook 
her  head.  With  her  hands  she  motioned  her 
sister  away.  She  and  Martha  were  different. 
Martha  could  meet  him  among  all  those  people 
on  the  highway.  Mary  was  not  like  that. 
Mary  sat  still  in  the  house.  For  the  moment, 
was  it  possible  that  a  doubt  —  her  first  —  had 


300  COME  FORTH. 

shot  through  her  tender  heart?  Did  she,  too, 
question,  "  Why  cometh  He  too  late  ?  " 

Now,  when  Mary  was  left  alone,  the  curtains 
of  her  room  gently  parted,  and  a  step  like  a 
breath  entered.  None  but  one  refined  by  the 
personal  knowledge  of  suffering  could  have 
spoken  with  the  voice  which  said  :  — 

"  Fear  me  not,  Mary.  I  intrude  upon  thee 
not,  save  for  the  space  of  a  moment.  It  is  thy 
neighbor,  —  Ariella." 

Mary  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  grasped 
that  of  Ariella  strongly.  She  did  not  raise  her 
face.  An  indefinable  comfort  flowed  from  the 
touch  of  Ariella  into  her  own  exhausted  nature. 
How  delicate  a  hand  it  was,  how  reserved,  how 
tender  ! 

"  I  come  upon  an  errand  of  importance,"  be 
gan  Ariella  in  a  steady  tone,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Ariella  did  not  talk  of  Lazarus. 
She  proceeded  at  once,  for  she  did  not  sit  down, 
nor  have  about  her  the  air  of  a  person  who 
meant  to  remain  for  a  call  of  condolence.  "  I 
must  consult  either  Martha  or  thyself  upon  a 
certain  matter." 

"  Martha  has  gone  forth,"  said  Mary  eva 
sively,  still  without  looking  up. 

"  She  goeth  to  the  grave  to  weep  there,"  re 
plied  Ariella.  "  The  neighbors  told  me  thus  as 
I  passed  in  at  the  door." 


COME  FORTH.  301 

Mary  made  no  reply.  She  did  not  care  to 
discuss  the  true  nature  of  Martha's  errand.  Ari- 
ella,  perceiving  this  reserve,  hastened  to  say  :  — 

"  A  fugitive  hath  sought  refuge  with  us,  at 
the  house  of  our  mother  and  Baruch  my  hus 
band.  Last  night  she  came  unto  us  like  a 
hunted  animal  panting  from  the  hunter,  and  we 
received  her,  and  did  shelter  her,  for  we  knew 
not  what  else  to  do  unto  the  miserable  creature. 
She  fleeth  from  the  palace." 

"From  the  palace!  Of  Annas?"  Mary 
lifted  her  head. 

"  She  is  a  slave  of  Annas  the  High  priest," 
replied  Ariella,  observing  Mary  with  gentle 
keenness. 

"  Oh  !  —  a  slave !  "  Mary's  face  fell  wearily 
again. 

"  She  telleth  a  strange  story,"  continued  Ari 
ella  in  a  low  tone,  "  and  she  hath  suffered  unto 
death.  Knowest  thou,  Mary,  aught  to  advise 
me  concerning  the  poor  soul?  Shall  we  shelter 
her?" 

"  Shelter  her?  "  said  Mary  with  sudden  inter 
est  and  earnestness.  "  Yea,  shelter  her,  Ari 
ella  !  Shelter  any  woman  who  fleeth  to  thee 
from  the  palace,  in  the  name  of  misery  and  of 
mercy." 

"  Shall  I  do  it  in  another  name  ? "  asked 
Ariella  breathlessly.  "  Trust  me,  Mary.  It  did 


302  COME  FORTH. 

befall  Baruch  to  hear  strange  things  the  other 
night  when  thy  calamity  began.  Baruch  said 
unto  me,  '  Shelter  her  in  the  name  of  the 
dead:  " 

"  Do  it,  then,  and  God  be  with  thee !  "  whis 
pered  Mary. 

The  two  women  clasped  hands,  and  without 
further  words  Ariella  glided  away.  Mary's 
heavy  head  fell  down  upon  the  bedside.  She 
cared  not  for  this  fugitive.  What  did  it  mat 
ter  ?  What  was  the  life  of  a  slave?  Laza 
rus  was  dead.  But  Lazarus  might  care.  Who 
ever  she  was,  —  this  Zahara,  she  and  her  plot 
ting  servants,  who  had  cost  the  life  too  precious 
to  be  set  in  the  same  balance  with  the  inmates 
of  a  hundred  palaces,  —  Lazarus  had  asked  it. 
Lazarus  had  said,  "  Remember  and  shelter." 

Hours  passed.  Mary  sat  on  in  the  dark  and 
dreary  room.  She  had  the  temperament  which 
does  not,  because  it  cannot,  conquer  grief  by 
action.  All  her  strength  must  come  through 
reflection  and  religious  faith.  She  must  think 
herself,  and  pray  herself,  not  work  herself,  into 
peace.  The  worker  and  the  dreamer  are  always 
at  odds,  and  Martha  and  Mary  could  no  more 
understand  each  other  than  the  Pharisee  and 
Sadducee,  or  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Mary  was  sitting  just  as  her  sister  and  Ari- 


COME  FORTH.  303 

ella  had  found  and  left  her,  when  Martha  unex 
pectedly  returned.  She  hurried  into  the  room 
excitedly,  and  said  :  — 

"  The  Master  called  for  thee.  Hurry,  Mary, 
and  do  not  be  moping"  there  any  longer.  I  am 
ashamed  of  thee." 

Mary  arose  slowly.  Martha's  voice  jarred  on 
her,  but  she  was  used  to  that.  She  veiled  her 
self,  and  followed  her  sister  confusedly.  She 
was  unconscious  of  any  details  on  that  sad, 
strange  walk  into  the  outer  world,  her  first  since 
she  had  followed  her  brother  to  his  grave.  She 
did  not  lift  her  eyes  from  the  ground.  She  saw 
the  gravel,  the  blades  of  grass,  and  little  peb 
bles  and  glittering  sand,  and  Martha's  robe  flut 
tering  before  her.  She  could  not  tell  where  she 

O 

was,  nor  how  far  she  had  gone,  when  a  voice 
quite  near  her  murmured  :  — 


Oh,  this  was  not  the  voice  of  any  common 
mourner,  any  paltry,  petty  comforter  !  What 
neighbor,  what  friend  or  kin,  was  there,  whose 
sorrow  sank  into  her  soul  like  sacred  dew  ?  All 
Mary's  nature  lifted  itself  like  a  dying  flower  to 
his  face.  When  she  saw  how  broken  it  was  she 
fell  at  his  feet,  and  passionately,  piteously 
cried  :  — 

"Oh,  if  Thou  hadst  been  here  he  had  not 
died  !  He  had  not  died  !  " 


304  COME  FORTH. 

Cut  into  the  side  of  the  limestone  cliff,  under 
the  hamlet  of  Bethany,  and  with  a  glance  to 
ward  the  heights  of  Olivet,  well  shielded  by 
olive-trees,  and  close  upon  the  highway,  the 
sepulchre  of  Lazarus  responded  drearily  to  the 
gaze  of  the  mourners  who  had  thronged  to  it. 
The  tomb  was  new,  hewn  by  the  family  upon 
private  land,  and  carved  with  all  the  mortuary 
art  of  the  times.  It  had  not  been  constructed 
above  a  year  or  two.  Lazarus  himself  had 
wrought  it,  expending  much  thought  upon  it, 
that  it  might  be  a  spot  of  beauty,  and  of  dignity 
worthy  of  the  family  eminence.  Its  stone  lips 
had  gaped  now  and  shut  upon  him  ;  one  might 
fancy  that  it  was  with  a  certain  insensate  pride 
that  they  received  their  designer  and  creator  for 
their  first  victim. 

It  was  a  fair  day,  sunny  and  warm.  The 
soul  of  the  coming  spring  was  already  in  the 
air.  Budding  trees  and  blossoms  trembled  in 
the  low  and  pleasant  wind.  The  sky  throbbed 
with  the  deep  color  which  it  wears  when  the  cre 
ation  of  life  is  at  its  fullest  and  richest.  It  was 
a  day  when  it  seems  impossible  to  die,  incredible 
to  be  dead. 

Before  the  tomb  of  Lazarus  there  had  col 
lected  a  large  and  serious  crowd.  The  disciples 
of  the  Nazarene  had  made  every  effort  to  pre 
vent  the  knowledge  of  his  return  from  spreading 


COME  FORTH.  305 

widely,  but  this  was  a  thing  impossible.  The 
eminence  of  the  dead,  the  suddenness  and  mys 
tery  of  the  death,  wild  rumors  as  to  some  cause 
for  it  more  interesting  to  public  curiosity  than 
the  fact  itself,  —  these  had  swelled  the  crowd  of 
formal  mourners,  who  came  to  gather  about  the 
bereaved  household.  The  return  of  the  Naza- 
rene,  and  his  close  personal  connection  with  the 
case,  had  called  from  Jerusalem  a  mixed  mass 
of  people,  who  gathered,  -  from  every  motive 
under  the  sun,  about  the  tomb. 

Among  these  could  be  easily  recognized  many 
persons  familiar  to  our  story.  Malachi  the 
Pharisee  stood  pompously  in  a  prominent  posi 
tion,  with  his  thick  underlip  pursed  up  in  the 
intensest  satisfaction.  Malachi  was  not  a  mur 
derous  man,  but  he  took  solid  satisfaction  in 
the  death  of  Lazarus.  What  could  so  benevo 
lently  have  interfered  to  verify  his  own  position 
in  regard  to  the  Nazarene?  He  surveyed  the 
crowd  with  the  secret  elation  of  a  man  who 
says,  I  told  you  so.  Hagaar  his  wife  stood  at 
some  distance  from  him,  ceremoniously  veiled, 
more  so  than  was  needed.  She  acted  as  if  she 
were  a  little  ashamed  of  her  husband.  Her 
loud  tongue  was  still.  Her  roving  eyes  were 
lowered.  Who  was  that  sweet-lipped,  devout 
young  man  yonder?  The  favorite  disciple  of 
Jesus ;  he  who,  it  was  said,  kept  so  closely  to 


306  COME  FORTH. 

his  Master,  as  if  not  knowing  whether  he  most 
loved  or  most  feared  for  him,  whether  he  were 
there  to  caress  or  protect  him.  John  was  ab 
sorbed  in  Jesus  as  the  fuel  is  in  the  fire.  Peter 
the  fisherman  whispered  something  to  him  rest 
lessly  ;  but  John  had  the  manner  of  one  who 
heard  no  man. 

Rachel,  the  neighbor  of  Lazarus,  was  among 
the  people,  and  beside  her  leaned  Ariella  and 
Baruch,  hand  clasped  in  hand. 

Amos  of  Gethsemane  stood  behind  these  three, 
saying  nothing,  as  was  the  habit  of  Ainos.  Some 
of  the  workmen  of  Lazarus  were  in  the  group, 
and  with  them  the  young  man  who  made  mourn 
ing  for  Lazarus  and  thought  of  Mary.  The  old 
Sheliach  from  Jerusalem  could  be  noticed  ob 
serving  the  scene,  without  commenting  upon  it. 
Standing  apart  by  himself,  the  slave  Abraham 
wept  bitterly.  Mary  and  Martha  were  not  yet 
come  to  the  tomb,  and  it  was  said  by  the  dis 
ciples  of  the  Nazarene  that  he  lingered  with  the 
sisters  of  the  dead  to  comfort  them, 

"  Comfort  is  a  useful  thing  before  that ! " 
sneered  Malachi,  pointing  to  the  closed  sepul 
chre. 

Malachi  had  scarcely  spoken  these  words,  when 
a  murmur  ran  along  the  crowd  that  the  Nazarene 
and  the  sisters  of  the  dead  were  to  be  seen  ap 
proaching  the  tomb.  The  people  fell  back  with 


COME  FORTH.  307 

a  motion  of  involuntary  respect.  The  lightest 
lip  ceased  its  gossip,  and  the  shallowest  heart 
felt  something  like  a  throb  of  reverence. 

"He  boweth  his  head,"  whispered  Rachel. 
"  He  hath  the  aspect  of  a  mourner  closely  of 
kin." 

"  Kin  is  of  the  heart,"  murmured  Ariella  to 
her  husband. 

"  Would  that  I  could  see  his  countenance," 
said  a  bystander,  "  but  the  motion  of  the  man 
hideth  it." 

At  this  moment,  a  stir  among  the  people  in 
dicated  a  diversion  of  interest  to  another  quar 
ter.  Enoch  the  lad,  prowling  about,  as  is  the 
manner  of  boys,  had  peered  above  the  sepulchre, 
treading  down  the  bushes  that  grew  there,  and 
searching  after,  who  knows  what,  whether  the 
body  or  the  soul  of  the  dead.  He  had  made  a 
discovery  which  caused  him  to  run  back,  as  fast 
as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  to  his  former  mas 
ter,  Baruch,  with  the  announcement  that  he  had 
seen  a  ghost.  "  It  was  not  Lazarus,"  he  said, 
"  for  she  was  a  woman  ;  but  you  could  see  for 
yourself  that  it  was  not  like  other  people." 

Baruch  and  Ariella,  hushing  the  boy,  with  all 
speed  made  their  way,  trying  to  attract  as  little 
attention  as  they  could,  to  the  thicket  whence 
the  lad  had  emerged.  There,  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  with  her  rich  clothing  torn  by  thorns, 


308  COME  FORTH. 

her  hair  disheveled,  and  her  face  hidden  on  her 
arms,  lay  a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  half  dead 
with  grief.  Her  teeth  bit  into  her  delicate  flesh  ; 
her  beautiful  form  shook  with  deep,  dry  sobs ; 
she  had  thrust  one  hand  through  the  bushes  till 
it  reached  the  top  of  the  sepulchre,  and  lay  there 
clenched.  Once  she  was  seen  to  pat  the  cold 
stone  with  a  passionate  tenderness  enough  to 
break  one's  heart  to  see. 

"  Oh  !  a  woman  !  "  murmured  Ariella.  "  Let 
me  go  first,  dear  Baruch." 

At  the  sound  of  voices  the  prostrate  woman 
gathered  herself  like  a  lioness,  and  bounded  by 
one  great  lithe  spring  to  her  feet.  Her  veil  had 
fallen,  and  the  light  of  day  fell  full  upon  her 
wan  and  beautiful  face.  It  was  Zahara,  daugh 
ter  and  princess  of  the  house  of  Annas  the  High 
priest. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BEFORE  the  tomb  of  Lazarus  the  people  fell 
back.  They  made  way  for  the  Nazarene,  who 
advanced  silently.  His  head  was  still  bowed. 
He  walked  like  a  man  oppressed  with  grief. 
The  sobbing  women  followed  him.  A  few  paces 
before  the  door  of  the  tomb,  they  stopped.  A 
breathless  hush  fell  upon  the  crowd  ;  that  within 
the  sepulchre  was  scarcely  deeper.  In  the  silence, 
a  bird  upon  an  olive-branch  above  the  tomb  be 
gan  to  sing  shrilly  ;  it  sang  on  for  some  moments 
uninterrupted,  so  intense  was  the  quiet ;  it  was 
a  merry  little  gay  bird,  with  bright  plumage, 
and  sang  as  if  it  had  been  summoned  to  a  fes 
tival.  Abraham  the  slave,  being  a  dull,  affec 
tionate  fellow,  was  sorely  displeased  with  this 
untimely  mirth,  and  lifted  his  hand  to  stone  the 
bird  ;  but  a  slight  movement  in  the  bushes  above 
the  tomb  deterred  him. 

A  woman,  a  stranger,  was  descending  the 
rocky  steep  to  join  the  mourners.  She  was 
accompanied  by  Baruch  and  Ariella,  who  had 
drawn  back  a  little  behind  her ;  Ariella  seemed 
to  be  guarding  her  and  protecting  her  with 


310  COME  FORTH. 

tender  hands,  lest  the  lady's  steps  should  miss 
their  hold  upon  the  rough  way.  The  three 
added  themselves  to  the  group  below,  and  stood 
silently. 

Zahara's  position  was  now  one  of  startling 
prominence,  but  she  seemed  unconscious  of  it. 
Her  dress,  hastily  rearranged,  was  folded  closely 
about  her  womanly  figure  ;  her  veil  was  torn, 
and  fell  loosely  over  hair  and  shoulders,  reveal 
ing  her  beautiful  and  haggard  face.  Despair 
had  settled  on  it.  Her  lips  were  drawn  in  ;  her 
dark  eyes  stared  straight  before  her;  they  were 
dry  and  bright ;  her  hands  were  clenched  across 
her  breast;  her  body  swayed  from  exhaustion 
which  her  soul  scornfully  repudiated  ;  she  seemed 
to  have  planted  herself  where  she  was,  like  a 
growing  thing  that  was  trying  to  take  root ;  she 
rejected  the  help  of  Ariella,  and  stood  quite 
alone.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  one  object. 
There  might  have  been  a  couple  of  hundred 
people  about  and  before  the  tomb.  She  saw  but 
one.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Zahara  be 
held  the  Nazarene. 

Jesus  was  now  standing  within  a  dozen  paces 
of  the  tomb.  His  head  was  yet  bowed.  As 
Zahara  turned  her  eyes  upon  him,  it  dropped 
into  his  hands.  His  body  trembled,  shook;  a 
convulsion  of  grief  swept  over  that  sensitive 
form ;  suddenly  a  sob,  powerfully  repressed, 


COME   FORTH.  311 

broke  upon  the  air.  Incredulous,  bewildered, 
melted  at  heart,  Zahara  perceived  that  the  man 
was  weeping. 

The  expression  of  her  face  changed  as  iron 
changes  to  fire.  She  advanced  a  step  or  two, 
moving  like  a  woman  in  a  dream ;  her  eyes 
opened :  her  clenched  fingers  unclosed  ;  she  re 
garded  Jesus  piercingly,  then  gently  ;  some 
thing  like  a  dumb  outcry  seemed  to  dart  over 
the  woman,  and  to  appeal  from  her  to  him. 
The  daughter  of  the  High  priest,  aristocrat, 
skeptic,  Sadducee,  had  never  been  educated  to 
believe  in  the  existence  of  life  beyond  the  ap 
parent  end  of  death.  To  her  despairing  view 
Lazarus  was  buried,  and  there  was  the  end  of  it. 
Lazarus  was  in  that  limestone  rock.  There  was 
no  more  Lazarus.  She  had  not  a  hope  nor  a 
faith  beyond  the  rolling  of  that  ghastly  stone 
upon  the  mouth  of  the  sepulchre.  Her  imagina 
tion  was  destitute  of  images  which  could  offer 
her  so  much  as  the  apparition  of  comfort  in  an 
hour  like  this.  She  looked  upon  the  friend  of 
her  lover.  He  could  weep,  then  ;  he  suffered  ; 
he  loved.  Betrayed  by  his  own  pretensions, 
helpless  in  the  presence  of  actual  death,  morti 
fied,  defeated,  humiliated,  he  stood  shaken.  Za 
hara  could  have  pitied  the  plebeian,  the  charla 
tan,  the  ignorant  Rabbi,  this  man  of  the  people, 
this  carpenter,  this  baffled  agitator  - —  could  have 


312  COME  FORTH. 

pitied  ?  Nay,  she  could  not.  A  power  incom 
prehensible  to  Zahara  withstood  her.  She  had 
met  with  Faith  in  Immortality ;  she  had  come 
face  to  face  with  Him  who  represented  Immor 
tality,  who  held  out  Eternal  Life  as  if  it  were  a 
gift  in  his  hand  to  the  hopes  and  despairs  of 
men.  Now,  as  she  stood  where  she  was,  pit- 
eously  staring  upon  him,  Jesus  raised  his  head, 
and  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  looked  upon  Zahara. 

She  saw  a  man  of  lofty  stature,  drawn  to  its 
full  height.  He  had  a  commanding  air.  His 
garments  were  the  garments  of  the  people,  but 
his  mien  was  the  mien  of  a  king.  His  sandals 
were  dusty  and  travel-worn.  He  had  the  hand 
of  an  artisan.  His  head  was  royal,  and  raised 
itself  upon  strong  shoulders.  He  had  beautiful 
hair,  of  the  finest  texture,  curling  and  fair  ;  his 
unshaven  beard  fell  to  his  breast ;  the  expres 
sion  of  his  concealed  lips  was  delicate  as  no 
word  may  tell  it ;  his  mouth  quivered  as  Zahara 
turned  her  pale  face  hither,  and  a  little  higher, 
toward  him,  with  the  uncontrollable  impulse  of 
dawning  respect.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  touched 
by  the  sight  of  the  poor  girl's  misery.  As  the 
two  stood  confronting  each  other,  they  were  to 
the  eye  like  human  love  confronting  the  Divine, 
human  anguish  appealing  to  Divine  pity,  the 
helplessness  of  earth  questioning  the  power  of 
heaven. 


COME  FORTH.  313 

Zahara  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  into  the 
Nazarene's.  What  a  gaze  fell  upon  her  !  She 
felt  scorched.  That  supreme  look  burned  into 
her  soul  like  holy  fire.  Those  eyes,  —  what 
color  had  they  ?  What  form  ?  No  man  knew, 
or  knoweth  unto  this  day.  Years  afterward, 
Zahara  used  to  say  that  they  were  to  her  vision 
as  the  sun  in  mid-heaven,  and  of  them  she  could 
tell  no  more.  She  shriveled  under  them  and 
sank  before  them.  The  majesty  and  beauty  of 
that  face,  past  power  of  speech  to  say  it  or  form 
of  dream  to  dream  it,  blazed  above  her  for  a 
moment.  Then  Zahara  slowly  drooped  through 
all  her  haughty  body,  and  sank  upon  her  knees. 

"  Lord,"  she  murmured,  "  Lord  !  He  loved 
thee,  and  I  restrained  him.  Blame  him  not 
there  in  the  tomb,  —  he  is  dead.  Dead  men  can 
not  tell  the  truth.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  !  it  was 
all  my  fault.  We  loved  each  other,  and  I  knew 
thee  not." 

But  Jesus  made  no  answer  to  Zahara.  He 
had  suddenly  retreated  a  step  or  two,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  tomb.  Then,  lifting  them  to 
the  hot,  bright  sky,  he  stretched  his  hands  out 
in  the  attitude  of  supplication,  and  so  stood, 
rapt  and  mute,  among  the  people,  and  no  one 
stirred  or  spoke  in  all  the  throng.  Solemnly, 
in  an  undertone,  and  overheard  only  by  those 
who  stood  nearest  him,  he  slowly  and  distinctly 
said :  — 


314  COME  FORTH. 

"  Behold,  I  am  the  Kesurrection.  I  am  the 
Life.  He  that  believeth  on  me,  though  he  were 
dead,  he  shall  live." 

"  Lord  !  "  wailed  a  woman's  voice,  "  he  did 
believe  on  thee ! "  It  was  Zahara  weeping  at 
his  feet,  —  weeping  now,  like  any  woman,  the  ice 
of  anguish  thawed.  Now  in  the  first  thrill  of 
her  tears  she  was  aware  that  an  incredible,  nay, 
a  ghastly  thing  had  happened.  The  Nazarene 
had  ordered  the  stone  which  guarded  the  sepul 
chre  to  be  removed.  Protests  from  the  family, 
whispers  from  the  crowd,  a  moment  of  intense 
and  terrible  excitement,  swept  giddily  over  Za- 
hara's  senses.  Speak  she  could  not.  John  the 
Disciple  sprang  with  the  alacrity  of  love  and 
trust  to  obey  his  Master's  command.  Amos  of 
Gethseinane  and  Baruch  of  Bethany  followed. 
The  three  men  executed  the  command  in  silence, 
and  fell  back. 

But  Jesus,  rapt  in  prayer,  stood  with  eyes 
lifted  to  heaven,  and  so  standing  seemed  to  have 
grown  unaware  of  any  who  pressed  about  him. 
Mary  came  near  timidly,  and,  sinking  by  the 
side  of  Zahara,  drew  the  hem  of  his  dusty  gar 
ment  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  An  inexplicable 
awe  had  fallen  upon  the  hearts  of  the  throng. 
The  silence  became  profound.  The  bird  upon 
the  tomb  had  ceased  singing. 

Suddenly  a  loud  and  ringing  voice  struck  the 
still  air :  — 


COME  FORTH.  315 

"  Lazarus  !     Lazarus  !  " 

Who  addressed  the  dead  man,  as  one  ad- 
dresseth  a  friend  who  is  expected  to  reply? 
The  people  stared  at  each  other  and  shuddered. 

"  Lazarus  !     Aa£ape,  Sevpo  e£a>.     Come  forth  !  " 

The  cry  was  commanding  and  awful.  It  pen 
etrated  the  souls  of  the  living  as  lightning  pene 
trates  the  earth.  If  any  voice  could  have  reached 
the  spirit  of  the  dead  - 

Great  God  of  our  people!  Look  yonder! 
What  has  befallen  us?  What  thing  is  this? 
Whom  have  we  in  our  midst?  What  is  this 
blinding  sight  ? 

The  stone  lips  of  the  sepulchre  mutter;  the 
black  throat  yawns  ;  there  is  motion  within,  and 
sound.  Steps  stir  —  there  is  a  flickering  of 
light  and  a  shifting  of  shadow  —  a  shape  moves, 
and  rises  before  our  eyes.  Is  it  the  living? 
Was  it  the  dead  ? 

Clad  in  his  shroud,  as  the  tomb  had  taken 
him,  Lazarus,  for  four  days  a  dead  man,  stoops 
from  the  sepulchre,  stands  uprightly,  and,  walk 
ing  steadily  into  the  bright  air,  moves  down  the 
scattering  ranks  of  his  mourners,  and  solemnly 
regards  them. 

Of  love  and  joy  wrenched  from  death  and 
despair  what  is  there  to  say  ?  The  words  that 
remain  are  few.  They  can  only  tell  us  how 


316  COME  FORTH. 

Zahara  fled  forever  from  the  palace  of  the  High 
priest,  and,  loyally  sheltered  by  Ariella,  went  in 
due  time  to  the  home  of  Lazarus,  and  was 
wedded  unto  him  by  the  sacred  lips  of  the  Great 
Rabbi,  thus  protecting  herself  from  the  authority 
of  her  father,  and  becoming  the  subject  of  her 
husband  according  to  the  Jewish  law ;  how  with 
her  own  impetuosity  and  intensity  she  flung  off 
her  old  life,  and  came  forth  from  her  old  faith, 
even  as  the  dead  had  come  forth  from  the  tomb, 
and  joined  herself  to  the  faith  of  her  husband 
with  a  cordial  soul ;  how  these  two,  with  the 
sisters  of  Lazarus  and  Rebecca  the  slave,  jour 
neyed  together,  escaping  the  dangerous  promi 
nence  of  their  startling  history,  into  what  they 
called  another  country. 

For  strangers  will  welcome  when    neighbors 
mock,  and  in  the   province    where   they   made 
their  new  home   these   elected  ones  taught  the ; 
faith  of  Him  who  had  given  his  own  life  for 
truth's  sake  and  for  God's,  —  the  faith  of  hu 
manity  and   purity,  of   mercy   and   peace,  the  : 
faith  that  respects  the  poor,  and  comforts  the 
unhappy,  and  is  gentle  with  the   sick,  and  re 
stores   the   mistaken    and   the   willful   and  the 
wrong,  and  gives  life  unto  the  dead. 

But  it  is  doubtful  if  Zahara  herself  ever  fully 
understood  her  own  connection  or  that  of  her 
husband  with  the  tragedy  which  one  month 


COME  FORTH.  317 

from  the  burial  of  Lazarus  of  Bethany  shook 
the  world. 

Upon  the  secret  influence  and  spoken  word 
of  Annas  the  High  priest  the  fate  of  the  Naz- 
arene  hung  balanced  for  so  much  of  a  space  as 
might  have  saved  —  and  did  condemn  —  the 
grandest  and  the  most  piteous  of  lives. 

How  could  Lazarus  tell  Zahara  this  ?  She 
became  so  accustomed  to  the  thought  which  her 
husband  did  not  share  with  her  that  perhaps 
she  wondered  less,  or  worried  less,  about  the 
facts  which  she  reserved,  than  might  otherwise 
have  been  the  case.  There  must  be  subjects 
upon  which  the  lips  of  Lazarus  were  sealed,  — 
those  of  the  grave  no  closer.  Time  did  not 
loosen  them.  He  became  a  tender  husband,  a 
busy  citizen,  a  devout  man  ;  but  he  remained  a 
silent  one. 

The  friendship  experienced  by  Jesus  for  Laz 
arus,  maintained  to  the  end  with  a  self-obliter 
ation  and  tenderness  upon  which  it  is  heart 
breaking  to  think,  went  with  other  recorded  and 
unrecorded  sacrifices  to  count  the  cost  of  a  price 
upon  which  we  dare  not  dwell,  and  from  whose 
preciousness  we  avert  an  awed  and  humbled 
face. 

Whence  had  Lazarus  come  ?  Where  had 
he  been  ?  What  solemn  marvels  had  he  seen  ? 
What  awful  secrets  did  he  know?  What 


318  COME  FORTH. 

blessed  story  could  he  tell?  Passionately  be 
loved  to  the  end,  and  assiduously  cherished,  his 
own  wife  never  knew.  She  might  as  well  — 
she  would  as  soon  —  have  asked  the  sepulchre 
from  which  he  had  emerged. 


THE  END. 


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